The Minister's Daughter
by Don E. Delivery
Summary: Harry Potter always had a way of attracting trouble. Who knew trouble could be so attractive? Harry/Ginny, Harry/OC. One does not simply sex up the French Minister of Magic's daughter and expect it to stay quiet... CHAPTER EIGHT POSTED ON 7.26.13
1. Basic Ministrations

_This story has been edited for prosperity as of 7/26/2013. If you do notice a mistake, please don't hesitate to ignore it._

_Also, isn't it obvious that I'm not JK Rowling? And if I had Warner Brothers' money, why would I be writing Fanfiction at all? None of these questions and more are answered in..._

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**The Minister's Daughter**

by Don E. Delivery

**Brief Summary: **

_Harry Potter always had a way of attracting trouble. Who knew trouble could be so attractive? _

**Relationships: Harry/Ginny, Harry/OC**

**Author's Message to Readers:**

_If you've ever read one of my stories, you'll notice that I typically use humor and romance to drive my stories forward. This will be much of the same, leaning a bit more towards romance in the beginning, while the story is being set up, and then progressing into action and adventure. Essentially, Harry's loyalty to his first love and the Weasleys is being tested by a new woman, a clerk in his auror department. Little does he know who this woman really is, the company she keeps, and the social circles she dips in and out of. One does not simply sex up the French Minister of Magic's daughter and expect it __to stay quiet..._

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**Prologue**

_For what it's worth, when we first started fucking, I had no idea she was the French Minister's daughter. _

_To me, she was just the tall, slender, long-legged blonde who sat at the third desk down from me in the auror department. Ron had even confided in me that he thought she was a _babe_; unfortunately for him, he had decided to bring it up at a family dinner and he was still paying for it with Hermione. Ginny had looked sharply at me, as if gauging me for a reaction, but I told her I had no idea who he was talking about._

_I knew _exactly_ who he was talking about. _

_In any case, Ms. Dubois' duties in our department were restricted to producing flying sticky notes and occasionally making coffee, so it wasn't like we had that much contact on a day to day basis. But one day, after a remarkably frustrating morning consisting of one bowl of runny oatmeal and a stack of documents chest-high, I sipped the delightful beverage through my perpetual scowl while waiting for Ron to return from the lavatory. Immediately, before I could convince myself talking to this woman was a bad idea, I went to her desk to thank her for the extra effort she put into making something that typically went unnoticed into the highlight of my stressful morning._

_Ginny was still my girlfriend, and while she said our relationship was very serious, I was having second thoughts seemingly every other second. Locking eyes with the blonde for the first time, it became startlingly clear that I had no interest in continuing that particular relationship any longer; at least, not when I could have a woman like the grey-eyed fox in front of me, smiling like the cat who was about to mount the canary._

_That didn't mean I ran out and bought her a diamond ring, nor did it mean that I asked Ginny to return hers. As you might guess, our situation was quite a bit more convoluted than that, considering the wedding had already been planned and replanned by my best friend, my girlfriend, and my soon-to-be mother in law. To cancel now would be the most dramatic turn of events since the death of Voldemort himself, and if I wasn't very badly mistaken, Harry Potter as a runaway groom would be the biggest news story since the Dark Lord's demise._

_So... why did I wake up this morning, unclothed, with Patricia Dubois' long arms wrapped around my waist and her blonde head on my chest?_

* * *

**Chapter One: Basic Ministrations**

I showed up to work with a smile on my face.

While for most people this would probably be a regular occurrence, for me, it took sheer strength of will to produce a believable smile, and I had been doing it so long that it had become second nature to me. For an actual happy expression to grace my visage was obvious proof something was wrong with me.

The floo network was troublesome on the best day, but I wiped the soot from my robes with a whispered spell, and without breaking stride, I crossed the lobby and slipped my wand into the guard's waiting hands. He tossed it back to me with a laughing smile, calling me a 'tosser' in the process.

Seamus made a heck of a guard, if only because he rarely made trouble and was usually reasonable if someone didn't have their wand or proof they worked at the Ministry. He was still far too concerned with women and alcohol, but at least he had learned to discuss those exploits away from work, unlike his unruly behavior in school.

I caught the wand and placed it back into its holster. Checking my watch revealed I was five minutes late; I smiled even bigger, knowing that I was never, _ever_ late, and I was absolutely certain no one would say anything to me about it because I was such a hard worker.

"Late, eh? What are we gunna do with you, Potter?"

The brisk, haughty voice of the self-proclaimed _nanny_ of the DMLE caught me a moment before her icy cold grip caught my elbow. "Don't think I didn't notice you slacking off, Potter." She pulled me close, then she lowered her voice, gracing me with a gentle smile that was a lot more familiar to me than her chastising. "It's about time! You haven't taken time for yourself in ages!"

My smile, which had fallen a bit when Mafalda Hopkirk grabbed me, returned in full force. "Thank you, ma'am." I paused a moment while she reached for another young auror's elbow, fetching his attention as quickly as she had mine. "Is there anything you need done at the moment?" I asked.

"No, son," she said, shaking her head. "Get you a cuppa and meet me in my office at nine. Until then, I don't know... _find_ something to do. Go bother one of the clerks." She turned and addressed the auror, a recent graduate named Davidson, who had continued walking right past his boss. "Charlie," she screeched, chasing him down with a fierce look on her face that caused me to roll my eyes, still smiling.

I watched her read him the riot act for a few moments before I did what the old witch told me to, heading toward the clerks near the front of the department. Hopkirk had doted on me ever since I started with the aurors straight out of Hogwarts. Miranda, Mafalda's niece, who had just been starting Hogwarts in my sixth year, had told her aunt the full extent of my involvement in the war, and the old woman had always treated me well because of it. In fact, she was like a grandmother to me, and Ginny and I had even come by her home for dinner a few times.

She wasn't much of a cook, true, but she made up for it by mixing astoundingly good drinks. You wouldn't think it upon first meeting her, but the Irish-born woman could really hold down her liquor - and yours too, if you didn't finish it first.

"Harry!"

Ron had joined me, and he slapped me on the back good-naturedly. I noted with a fair amount of amusement that he was smiling too, which probably meant Hermione had forgiven him... for whatever it was he had done recently. "Top of the morning to you, Chosen One." He looked at me strangely, perhaps noticing my much improved mood. "Did you have sex last night too? Wait... nevermind, it was with my sister, wasn't it? Don't you dare tell me."

"Well, you just told me about you and Hermione, so what's the difference?"

"The difference is," he said, waving his hands around wildly, "_she's my bloody sister_!"

I just laughed. "Well, stop asking me so many bloody questions about it and I won't tell you."

Ron appeared to realize something. "No... Ginny left town yesterday around lunch - I remember 'cause Hermione ate with her - so it couldn't have been that." He shrugged, sticking his hands in his robe pockets. "Why_ are _you smiling? You're always frowning by this time of the morning." He gasped. "Did you get a raise?"

"Yes, but that's not why I'm smiling..." Ron opened his mouth to complain about my raise when I cut him off. "I didn't get a raise, Ron. Stop being so gullible."

He punched me in the arm, drawing another laugh. "So, what gives? You're not going to tell me why you're so happy?"

"Guilt-tripping me isn't going to get you anywhere, Ron; you should know that after dealing with Hermione all these years."

Ron cleared his throat, looking around to make sure nobody was listening. "You're my best friend, Harry, but you don't smile without good reason to. Never have, and probably never will." I followed his eyes to an increasingly familiar-looking blonde, who quickly turned her head as I caught her staring. "You can't tell me something hasn't changed. Harry Potter flashes the world's most charming smile and the ladies swoon... even the hot French ones."

Channeling my best Lucius Malfoy impression, I said, "Flattery will get you... _everywhere_."

He rolled his eyes. "Seriously though, you're my sister's husband, or as good as, so you'd better keep your hands off the birdie and save it for the bride."

I faced him with a curious glance. "You think I'd go for _her_?" I asked, tilting my head in Patricia's general direction.

"I think you're as warm-blooded as any male, and I'd probably go for her, so... yes. But you've always been the best of us, so I expect you to behave admirably."

Maybe I was tired of behaving _admirably._ Inwardly I seethed, though it wasn't Ron I was really mad at. Mostly I was angry with myself because he was right; I did need to stay away from Patricia Dubois, and worst of all, I had a distinct feeling that she had no problem putting her hands all over me.

Changing the subject, I said, "What's on your agenda for the day?"

Ron sighed. "We've heard that a gender-bending wizard... or witch I guess... has been Apparating in and out of Muggle politicians' homes just about the time someone shows up with a camera. I think it's that Boy George fellow myself, but we've got to go interview a diplomat and his wife and try to get to the bottom of it before we _Obliviate _them." He kicked over a clerk's little tin trash can, as the young man who typically worked there wasn't in today. "It burns me up. I could be at home with Hermione, but I'm called in to track down England's flashiest flamer."

I snickered. "Nice one. I'm headed to _find something to do_ right now. Hopkirk is busy punishing the new recruits for slacking until nine, so I've got about an hour and a half before anything meaningful needs to be done." I eyed the fallen trash can for a moment before kicking it across the floor for good measure. "You want to meet me for lunch at twelve?"

Ron considered my invitation a moment before frowning and shaking his head. "Sorry. Can't. I promised Hermione I'd come home and clean up the kitchen."

"Why? What's so wrong with the kitchen that can't wait until the evening?"

"Well," Ron began, sounding rueful, "Hermione didn't get home from school until late, so I decided I'd surprise her with dinner. She doesn't like doing take out all the time, so I used magic to cook last night." He paused. "You already know I'm not that good at it." That was an understatement. "Anyway, I figured I'd make something easy, so I cooked shepard's pie. And, well, I kind of... _blew everything up_."

I snickered. I could only imagine the chaos of a kitchen run by chef Weasley. "And let me guess... you just left everything there until Hermione came home..." _But that wouldn't explain why he was so happy this morning..._

"No! That wasn't it at all! She came home right as it happened, and took a massive chunk of pie in the face." I burst out in laughter. "I'm not kidding! I just knew she was gonna freak, so I jumped up and immediately began apologizing, promising her the world and telling her how much I love her, just knowing she was gonna kill me on the spot... and the funny thing is, she didn't even get mad!"

"What did she do?" I asked, despite already seeing where this was headed.

"She jumped my bones, and," he lowered his voice, "she looked just like a younger Gwenog Jones on a broomstick... except it was _my _broomstick!" The redhead smiled whimsically, and I had to laugh; only Ron would compare Hermione, beautiful in her own right, to a burly female Quidditch player and think it a compliment. "We were so busy, we forgot to clean the kitchen!"

I opened my mouth to say something, but no words came out. Instead, I shook my head and patted him on the back. "If it's any consolation, I'd rather spend lunch with someone else anyway."

Again, Ron punched me in the arm. "Later, Harry." He walked around the corner, presumably to take the elevators elsewhere, and I watched him go with a wry smile. He had not changed in eleven years, and while I had picked up a few of his characteristics over the length of our friendship, he was still one hundred percent Ron Weasley. Hermione kept him in line well enough, but even she knew it was impossible to truly change him.

I avoided looking at Patricia and instead joined one of my favorite clerks at his desk, sitting down as silently as I could in the chair in front of him. The thin, old man was currently searching through a box of folders with his bare hands, and only the top of his prematurely gray hair could be seen over his oak desk. A metal placard holding a stack of business cards with the name Albert Forthright emblazoned on them was placed at the edge of his desk, alongside a few moving photos of his son playing footy, his daughter dancing with her husband, and Albert and his wife looking dotingly at a little girl I assumed was the smoking hot married daughter.

"Stop looking at my daughter, Potter," he said, without looking up. I'd swear the man had eyes in the back of his head if I wasn't already looking at it.

"Good morning, sir. Would it make you feel better if I told you I was looking at your wife instead of your daughter?"

He shrugged, still wrist-deep in files. "My wife is the most beautiful woman in the world, so I can't say I blame you." He finally turned his attention to me, laughing at the mock lovestruck look I was focusing on his wife. He took the picture out of my hands with some difficulty and placed it back on his desk, just out of my reach. "What can I do for you, Harry?"

"To be honest, sir, I hope you can't do anything for me." I smiled. "Madame Hopkirk asked me to find some work, so I'm following orders."

He leaned back in his seat, sliding a bit as the wheels reacted to his motion. He placed his feet on the desk, and hummed a bit, looking as though he didn't have a care in the world. "Nothing to do; at least, not for you and me. Not 'til nine."

"What happens at nine?"

"I'm not sure..." he said, before lowering his voice almost to a whisper. "I think the French Minister is coming to meet with some dignitaries... namely our own minister, Hopkirk and Weasley."

Percy was the minister's undersecretary, but also acted as a courteous diplomat when the big wigs came to town. He had proven himself to be a clever, strong-willed individual after Voldemort's fall, and he had even reconciled with his family. Now, he was married with a three year old, and doting grandmother Weasley spent most of her time watching the toddler and encouraging Ron to have one just like it; this, of course, only encouraged Ron to gripe about his once outcast brother under his breath.

"Something about a war brewing between giant clans in the Chartreuse mountains. _We_," he said, pointing to himself and then to me, "should stay out the way and let the big boys clash." He chuckled. "No pun intended."

I couldn't agree with him more; still, I found it highly unlikely someone wouldn't at least _try _to rope me into it somehow. The ministry could find no better mascot than the last person to kill a dark lord, and though I was an unwilling participant forced into it by a prophecy, now I was loyal to my country and would do whatever it took to keep a good minister in power. Thankfully, Kingsley Shacklebolt fit the bill splendidly. "Shack won't let me _stay out the way_; as far as I can tell, he loves putting me on cases like these." He snorted, and I tried to emulate Kingsley's no-nonsense voice, with hilarious results. "No fun? Check. Middle of another country? Check. Ice cold? Check. Sounds like another job for Potter!"

Albert smirked. "Don't act like you don't want the big jobs, Harry. The Prophet used to have you pegged as an attention-seeker, and I can see where they got that from." I knew he was just saying this to irk me, but _damnit_, that stung a bit. "I say that with all due respect," he added, laughing.

"Tell me why I sat down at your desk again?" I said, trying to play off the fact he had actually gouged my feelings.

"Because you were looking for conversation, not work. Besides," he changed the subject, waving his arms. "Look around you. Does anybody look busy to you?"

I scanned the row of desks, noticing most of the clerks were currently flapping their gums, just like Albert and I. A few aurors mingled about, but most were watching their shoe laces or gathered around the wireless, which was pumping out a rather warbly version of a Weird Sister's hit.

My eyes lingered on a desk in the middle of the hall not too far from my own, but I did my level best not to stop very long. Despite that, I knew that Patricia had noticed me, and judging by the annoyed look on her bright face, she knew I was ignoring her.

What did she expect? I was about to be married to two different people, and keeping a straight face at work was hard enough without the two of us in each other's business constantly. I couldn't deny that something about the girl gave me a pleasant buzz, especially in my loins, but that was just more reason to stay away from her in plain view of everyone. I could lose my job or, worse, my entire family.

"I suppose not," I finally said, glancing again at Patricia, who had turned away but was watching me in a compact mirror with a grim look on her face. _Damn_, I thought. _She's pissed at me._

"Why is Dubois looking at you like you shit in her cereal? Did you saddle her with the Beaumont case?"

He was speaking of Alexander Beaumont, a Diagon Alley apothecary owner who had a penchant for taking live Muggles and using them as ingredients. Of course, he always regrew what he used and _Obliviated _the unwilling participants, but it still made for very messy paperwork. It was also exceedingly hard to pin the crimes he was accused of on him, as he was careful to send the Muggles back home without us figuring out who they were. In any case, I hadn't bothered her with the case details, and I told old Forthright that.

"Well, she's definitely staring daggers at you. Good luck with that," he said, almost gleeful that someone was annoyed with me. "I've heard she's a spitfire when she's irritated." He glanced around him, making sure no one was listening in. "Like her father in that regard..."

I didn't comment. I didn't know the girl's father, I only knew the girl, and I was already well-aware that she was going to have it out with me the next time she had me alone. Judging by my prior experience with women, they didn't appreciate being ignored.

"Well, sir... it was nice catching up, Albert, but I'll see you later."

He mumbled a farewell, going back to lightly digging through his box of files. I had a feeling he was just trying to look busy in case one of the higher ups walked around the corner. He was a good man, Albert Forthright, but his last name was _occasionally_ unsuitable.

Cleverly, I avoided going past Patricia's desk in favor of circling around the building. As I walked, I chanced one quick glance in her direction and noticed her eyes following me. Sweating slightly, I quickly headed for my cubicle, sitting down and hiding myself as soon as possible.

It was to no avail, as she appeared behind me about thirty seconds after I sat down. I cringed, preparing for an onslaught.

"Good morning, Mr. Potter," she said, placing absolutely no emphasis on any of the words in the sentence. I was surprised to find that the venomous look she had been giving me was replaced by a pleasant grin. Still, her eyes lingered a bit long on my face, and her hand reached out to touch the nape of my neck over the back of my chair. My cringe became a shiver of pleasure, but I did not turn around. "I need your help," she informed me unceremoniously.

"Yes, Ms. Dubois?" If anyone heard me speaking to her, I was going to sound disinterested. A spike of guilt stabbed me in the gut then, as her friendly smile turned into a sneer.

"Well," she said, casting her eyes around the building before sinking down behind my cubicle walls and facing me with a severe expression. "I've been looking for the asshole who _fucked me _last night, as I expected at least a 'good morning' from him, but instead he's avoiding me completely. Problem is, I've already seen him looking back at me, but he's trying to pretend I don't even exist. Have you seen that yellow-bellied, sorry-excuse-for-a-man-"

She was starting to raise her voice, so I pulled her into the cubicle and hit her with a searing kiss, which soon turned into a manic attempt by Patricia to pull out my tonsils; our tongues rolled around in each other's mouths like some hastily choreographed dance, which ended with a tell-tale smack across my face. "How dare you?" she asked, though she leaned her forehead against mine, looking satisfied.

"I'm sorry, Patricia. I should have said _something _to you, but I don't want everyone to notice us being friendly. Instead, everyone's noticed, _because _I haven't said anything to you." I ran my hands through my hair in frustration, trying not to look nervous at how close she was. "You know we both have a lot on the line if we were caught in a scandalous position. You'd lose your job, I'd get demoted, the Weasley's would never talk to me again, and... well, I'm not sure what your family would do, but it's probably not a positive thing."

"Harry," she said, as we finally broke contact, "this thing between us is the _only _positive in my life right now, so for you to act like I'm some kind of non-entity is a _negative thing_."

"I'm sorry. Again. Let me make it up to you," I insisted, grabbing her long-fingered, manicured hands in mine and kissing them lightly. "I'll take you out to lunch." Ron was unavailable, Ginny was out of town, and my stomach was already growling this morning, so why not take the lovely girl to lunch?

She shook her head, before stopping mid-shake and reconsidering. She put a finger to her lips. "On second thought, I'd love to go to lunch with you. However, I get to pick the place."

"Okay," I said, grateful to have a companion for my meal, especially since it was the woman I had just had sexual relations with the night before. Thinking about it sent a flash of heat up my neck, and I recalled the events leading up to our consensual coitus.

* * *

_It was getting very late, and while I had been off for at least an hour, I was still glued to the chair in front of my desk, staring at the cubicle surrounding me. I had no reason to rush home this evening, as Ginny was off with the Harpies, and though she was just a reserve chaser, the game was against a German team and she wouldn't be back until the next afternoon. _

_I didn't have any place better to be, so I continued gazing at my three-walled office, the only form of solace I could find in my life at the moment. We didn't have a tele at home, as Ginny had never enjoyed watching the quickly moving pictures, and there was nothing to eat as far as I could remember. Our dog had run away the week before, probably out of boredom, so there was no pressing reason to return home before midnight._

_Despite that, I couldn't think of anything better than propping my feet up on my desk and listening to the quiet in the auror department. There were only a few aurors and clerks still on duty, and even they were preparing for the next shift change, when they could go home to their families and spend quality time together._

_I wasn't at all sulking because my girlfriend was gone again. _

_"Hey, Harry," came a voice from over my shoulder. I was startled so much I nearly fell out of my chair in my haste to turn around. Fortunately, it was the lovely Ms. Dubois rather than anyone who would rush me out of the office or put more work on my desk. "What are you doing here so late?" she asked._

_I briefly considered whether or not I should politely tell her to bugger off, or if I should tell her the truth - that I had no place better to be. Figuring it wouldn't hurt to start a conversation, I said, "Honestly? I don't want to go home."_

_"Why?" was her reply, and she sounded like she really wanted to know. Patricia was notoriously inquisitive, especially when it concerned other people in the department's private lives; I had always assumed it was a facet of her blonde roots, but it could have just been an extra willingness to speak to her co-workers. "Don't you, ah, live with your girlfriend? Ron's sister, right?"_

_"Yes," I muttered, not really feeling like talking about her as I was still annoyed that she was gone. "She's playing a game in Berlin tomorrow morning, so she left with the team to spend the night there." _

_"Quidditch, huh?" I nodded, and she changed the subject. "Well, that's nice. At least you'll have some free time to yourself, right? That's _something._"_

"_The problem is," I said, swallowing my reservations, "I don't want free time to myself. I want someone dedicated to me, who doesn't have to jet out every few days for a match they won't play in-"_

_I bit back any further words, realizing I was sounding like a cross between a rambling lunatic and a lovelorn teenager, and that I was talking to a woman I had fantasized about as recently as the night before. _

"_-and you're probably thinking I'm a creep with a ton of relationship problems, and wondering how quickly you can walk away without being snooty."_

_She laughed. "Well, I wasn't... but now that you mention it, you _do_ have relationship problems." Her smile was intoxicating, and suddenly one just like hers blossomed on my face. Surprised, but enjoying the experience of talking to an attractive woman, I leaned back a bit more contentedly in my seat. "Trust me, I understand." She didn't elaborate, she just leaned against the wall and eyed me with a speculative look._

_Waving my wand once, I produced a comfortable chair, much like the one that currently sat at Patricia's unoccupied desk. "Here, have a seat and I'll tell you all about them."_

"_You're sure?" she asked, suddenly tentative despite her usually boisterous behavior. Not that she was loud, per se, but that she usually had no problem talking to... well, _anyone _I guess. "I'd hate to interrupt something."_

"_No, no, I insist. It'll do me good to get this off of my chest for once." At that, she took a seat, needing no further convincing to join me. I had a feeling her reasoning for sitting with me went further than simply lending an ear for my benefit, and I was strangely determined to find out why she even cared. "Would you like anything? Maybe a cup of coffee or tea?"_

_She shook her head no at coffee, but fervently nodded at my offer of tea. "Coming right up," I said, feeling like showing off a little. I conjured green tea that was the perfect temperature and flavor I liked, and then I handed it to her. On the ceramic mug was stylized writing, proclaiming Patricia the 'Best Clerk Ever'._

_She giggled, admiring the mug. "Very nice. Charming, as well." The words fell out of her mouth, and the temperature in the cubicle rose to match the hot tea. She cleared her throat and quickly moved the conversation away from how charming I was. "So, what's the big story, Harry, and why do you need to get it off your chest to begin with?"_

_The second question was more difficult to answer than the first, but I started with it anyway. "Well, the only people I can really talk to about Ginny are her brother and my best friend, who is married to her brother and is her best friend as well. You can see the problem, right?"_

_She nodded, looking thoughtful. "Okay, I guess that makes sense. I wouldn't go blabbing to my fiancee's brother about any problems we had, so I could see that. But... why on Earth would you trust me?"_

_I thought for a moment before shrugging non-chalantly. "I guess the only answer is: Why wouldn't I trust you?"_

_Again, she giggled. "Too true! Okay, out with the story then." She licked her lips, distracting me a bit, but I turned my eyes away and focused on telling the cubicle wall my problems. It remained utterly still while I began my story._

"_I've known Ginny since my first year in Hogwarts, but she didn't start until my second year. I met her the first time I met Ron, and she had a crush on me even then, supposedly because she wanted to hear about the Boy-Who-Lived a lot when she was a kid." I glanced at Patricia to see she was paying avid attention, so I felt confident about continuing. "During the next summer I went to stay with the Weasleys for the first time, as me and Ron were already best friends and my aunt and uncle had virtually locked me in my room."_

_I didn't mention that they had _literally _barred the window in my room and locked the door, as I didn't think she didn't need to hear that story. Ever._

"_So, I showed up at the Weasley's, and Ginny's face flamed bright red with embarrassment because she already had the hots for me. Of course, back then I could care less about girls, especially one who idolized me for someone they had read about." She snorted. "It happens more often than you'd think. Anyway, her first year at school was awful for her, because she didn't have any friends, her brothers were dicks to her most of the time, and Lucius Malfoy had slipped her Tom Riddle's diary during the summer."_

_She looked confused. "I know Malfoy, but who is Tom Riddle?"_

"_You know him better as the Dark Lord Voldemort," I said, slightly surprised that she didn't shiver when I said his name. Instead, she nodded thoughtfully and encouraged me to keep going. "Anyway, the diary was a horcrux." She opened her mouth to say something, but I cut her off before she could ask the obvious question. "A horcrux is an object that holds a portion of a person's soul. The only way that one can be made is by committing a cold-blo0ded murder, splitting your own soul in the process. Voldemort made a record-breaking seven of them. We didn't know at that time that they even existed, and here young Ginny was stuck with one."_

"_Naturally, writing in the diary meant that Ginny was slowly becoming possessed by Tom Riddle's bit of soul, and though she tried to throw the book away, it was too late; when I found the book later that year, she retrieved it from me, trying to protect me, but it consumed her to the point she was more or less sleep-walking around the castle while Voldemort took control."_

"_That's horrible."_

"_Yes, it was. Voldemort forced her to open the Chamber of Secrets, which was created by one of the Founders of Hogwarts and hidden from the rest of the school, and when she went missing, Ron and I set off to look for her. As it turned out, Salazar Slytherin could speak to snakes, and the only way it could be found was by a Parseltongue who knew exactly where to look. By a series of coincidences, we found the entrance in a bathroom, and because I inherited Voldemort's talent for Parseltongue as a child, voila, I spoke and the sink became a portal."_

_Patricia looked disbelieving, which was much better than the usual reaction - disgust that I had a notoriously dark trait._

"_If all of this sounds a bit unbelievable, I understand, but I swear on my magic every bit of it happened. Ron and I went after Ginny, and one of the tunnel's collapsed." I avoided mentioning Gilderoy, who was still in St. Mungo's and was well-known amongst English and French readers. I didn't want Patricia thinking I played a part in his unfortunate self-_Obliviation. _"Ron was on one side, leading back up to Hogwarts, while I was the only one who could save Ginny in time, so I sent him to go fetch help and went after his sister."_

_I conjured myself a glass of water and took a sip, refreshing my throat and solidifying my voice. "That's better. Long story short, I confronted Riddle's horcrux in the Chamber. Ginny was lying there dying, while he drained her of every bit of her magic." Patricia gasped. "I know, fucked up, right? In any case, I traded barbs with Riddle - a few zingers, a few Dumbledore references - and lo and behold Tom reveals a fifty-foot basilisk that was under his control, commanding it to kill me."_

"_Okay, _now_ I don't believe you. Basilisks don't even exist anymore." _

"_You're right, but only because I killed the last living one on record. With a sword, through the mouth, getting stabbed in the process." I laughed at the doubtful look on her face. "Fortunately, Fawkes, Dumbledore's phoenix, showed up before the fight started and took out the snake's eyes, allowing me to actually see what I was fighting."_

"_I'm sorry, but I absolutely refuse to believe-"_

"_I'll show you the scar," I said, already pulling up the sleeve on my shirt. "Look-"_

_Her mouth fell open, and she blinked rapidly before turning her eyes away from my almost grotesque-looking arm. "Put it away!" A scar, about a foot in length, shined vivid pink over the top of a sickly green bruise._

_I tilted my arm so that it entered her vision once more, and she squeaked childishly, drawing my laughter. "You don't believe me!"_

"_Okay, I believe you! Just stop showing me!"_

_Still chuckling, I rolled my sleeve back down and continued my story. "Anyway, to make a long story short, I killed the basilisk, and then killed Riddle by stabbing the basilisk's tooth through his diary. He writhed in agony, disappearing in front of my eyes, and Ginny woke up, disoriented but otherwise unharmed. She didn't remember anything."_

_Patricia looked equal parts captivated, grossed-out and confused. "That was very brave of you, but I don't see how that has to do with your relationship problems..." _

"_But that's the thing! It has everything to do with it. She was possessed by Voldemort. She was infatuated with me as a child, just because I defeated Voldemort. She is the youngest of seven siblings, and her brother became my best friend, who helped me defeat Voldemort. It all comes back to Voldemort!" I sighed, running my fingers through my hair. "Would it be so wrong not to have a constant reminder of everything I've ever lost in my bed at night?"_

_She didn't smile, not at first. She merely watched me, analyzing me in that way women do that is undeniably sexy and always mysterious. I knew she would never freely divulge her thoughts, and yet I could feel them pouring into my mind like a faucet..._

_She wants to be in my bed tonight instead..._

_Just as quickly, I cut off the tendril of accidental Legilimency, and the sense that she wanted me was gone. Slowly her lips formed an uncertain smile, and I itched to press mine against hers. I shook the feeling off, trying to keep it together._

_"I don't know, Harry. I'm sure the two of you are in love or you wouldn't be getting married!" She smiled as she said it, but I could tell she wanted to say something else. "Maybe you should let her be a reminder of what you still have to live for, rather than what you're missing now."_

_Her calm and collected smile was convincing, but I knew better. She was attracted to me, and I had a feeling if I gave her any indication I felt the same, she would reveal everything to me._

_"It's just that... sometimes I feel like, if Voldemort never existed, then Ginny and I would have no reason to be together. I spent so much time convinced that I was going to die fighting Voldemort, that I think I made vows to my friends that I could never hope to keep. I told Ginny when the Dark Lord was gone that we'd be free to live our lives, but really, all I did was give her what _she _wanted, getting rid of any freedom I would have otherwise had."_

_"Well," she said, looking like she was still piecing everything together in her mind. "Why do you want freedom so badly? Perhaps all you really need is some security."_

_I snorted. "I think what I really need is a break. Just... a way to clear my head of anything to do with crime-fighting and Weasleys." She laughed softly, placing one hand on my shoulder, sending a pleasant shock through my midsection._

_"Then take a break!" She pushed me lightly and removed her hand. "I hear Hopkirk tell you to take some time for yourself at least twice a week. I'm sure they'll grant you leave if you ask nicely..."_

_A moment passed where I didn't say anything at all, still focused solely on not reading her mind; even so, I could sense she wanted me to hurry up and say something or she was going to go mad. Her pulse was quick, and it was hard for me to distinguish which one of our hearts was beating faster. Again, I forced myself to break the connection, as I'm sure she wouldn't want me taking even the slighest peak at her thoughts - which, of course, made it all too tempting to begin with._

_"I guess you're right..." I said, not really sure how to move the conversation forward, or why I wanted to converse at all. A part of me wanted to drown in my sorrow, and the other knew that would lead somewhere Patricia and I weren't ready for._

_"Harry, let me ask you a question. Okay?"_

_I nodded my consent, still a little too distracted to speak properly. "Sure. Whatever you want."_

_"What do you want?"_

* * *

Patricia laughed, breaking my reverie. "I want it to be a secret to the very last moment. I promise the food will be the best thing you've ever eaten. Okay?" Her face was so priceless I couldn't possibly refuse, so I smiled and nodded.

"It's a date," I said. Her face went suddenly blank, before she stood up and walked some distance away from my cubicle.

"Sir, thank you for your help. I think everything's going to turn out just fine."

She went back to her desk, and she did not turn back to look at me. Perhaps she had decided to turn my game against me, as my smile fell a bit. I looked up to see an owl sitting on the top of my cubicle, and I stood up to grab him, looking curiously at the letter clutched in its grasp.

I snatched it, and the owl flew away, batting its wings swiftly and leaving as quickly as it had come. Rolling out the parchment revealed the delicate handwriting of my fiancee, and my face whitened significantly as I read the missive.

* * *

_Harry,_

_Caught a quick Portkey back this morning. I hurt my knee in the hotel room last night and can't play today. It's okay, I can walk, it'll be fine in a few days, so don't worry! Meet me at home for lunch, and I'll tell you about my trip._

_Love, Ginny_

_PS: Hermione is bringing by some treacle, so come home hungry! Love you, my Chosen One!_

* * *

_-end of Chapter One-_


	2. Rock and a Soft Face

**Chapter Two: Rock and a Soft Face**

Imagine the look on my face as I stood in the smallest bathroom on the auror level, trying to convince my stomach it wasn't on a roller coaster. My nerves were as tightly wound as Ron's when he missed breakfast.

I had been standing in front of a mirror for fifteen or twenty minutes, alternating between growling something lude about my fiancee and complaining about my life in general. A part of me realized that things weren't so bad, and that the situation was certainly salvageable at present, but another much bigger part of me felt like my life was circling the drain as assuredly as the foamy soap I was using.

I scrubbed my hands together thoroughly. I looked up, anger painted red across my face as my best friend walked into the bathroom. The scowl on his face matched mine, so I quickly forced a smile, hoping it would stick long enough I wouldn't have to make up a story to take place of my misfortune. I certainly didn't want him thinking I was in here for anything other than using the facilities, as Ron, more than anyone else, could read my mood and know exactly what was wrong.

"Harry!" he said, before grabbing his stomach, looking like he was in severe pain. "What are you..." Ron stopped talking, nearly doubled over in his apparent agony. "Nevermind! Step aside, Potter."

I hesitated, just to annoy him and further prolong the torture emanating from his irritable bowels. "What's up?" I asked dumbly, the barest hint of a smile on my face.

"You know very well what's-" he cut himself off by howling in misery. "Get out of the way!" He pushed me aside roughly, causing me to laugh uproariously.

"Nature calls, huh?" I felt like this was an opportune moment to get the hell out of the bathroom before the smell forced me out, so I very quickly went to the door. Just as I pushed it open, a loud, resounding noise came from behind Ron's stall. I yelled behind me, "Hope everything comes out all right!"

I was met at the door by a brown-haired man with freckles covering his young face. "Was that Weasley?" he asked. I searched my memory, recognizing the man as a lower-ranked auror named Joe. He was notorious amongst the aurors for constantly getting away with doing nothing, and I'm sure he had every intention in hanging out in the bathroom with that texty-phone thing I'd seen him carrying around lately.

I'll be honest: the magic required to make an electronic device work in this environment astounded and intrigued me, but I wasn't about to let him fuck the day away.

"Yes," I said, staring the shorter man down. It wasn't often I got to look down my nose at someone, as I was one of the shortest men in the office. "It was."

He seemed to belatedly realize who he was talking to, as he took a hurried step backwards. "Oh, hello, sir. I'd assume it isn't safe to go in the bathroom right now then..."

"I wouldn't let it dissuade you, Joey." I scanned his nametag, noting his last name. "After all, Auror Cocker..." I said, a smile blooming on my face. I struggled not to laugh at his last name and the unfortunate situation I had placed him in. "You must be _dying_ to use the loo to travel so far from your desk." His desk, as well as mine, was all the way across the building. I held the door open for him invitingly, daring him to refuse.

He looked like he wanted to say no, but, to my utter amusement, he merely nodded sadly. He took a deep breath and crossed the threshold just about the time Ron let one rip, splattering against the toilet like a machine gun. I heard the young Auror yelp, and had to stifle a laugh at the poor boy's expense.

If nothing else, the bathroom scenario had put a smile back on my face, so I waltzed over to my desk to prepare myself for the meeting which was scheduled to start in fifteen minutes. I wasn't looking forward to being trapped in a meeting this morning, but my mind was primarily focused on the problem presented by Ginny's early return to England as opposed to anything going on with the French.

Any other time the damned woman wouldn't return until late in the evening, maybe even taking her time to shop or visit the fallen Berlin Wall. It was almost as if she instinctively_ knew _I had been up to no good and had hurried back to find out what it was I was up to. I wouldn't put it past her, as she certainly had her mother's eye for stopping idle mischief.

"Ready for the meeting?" My thoughts were interrupted by the voice of Albert, coming from somewhere on the other side of my cubicle. Before I could respond, he said, "It starts in ten minutes in Hopkirk's office." Immediately, I heard his footsteps as he travelled to the next cubicle over, repeating his question for their benefit.

"Be right there," I said under my breath, grabbing my official robes and swinging them over my shoulders. With a muttered spell they arranged themselves perfectly over my clothes, and I took a moment to admire myself in the glass picture frame of myself, Ron and Hermione that sat at my desk. I also spared a moment to look at the moving photo of Ginny, who seemed to looking at me as if she too suspected I was up to something.

"Don't look at me like that," I mumbled, turning the picture away from me.

"Fine. I can see when I'm not wanted..." Surprised, I turned to find Patricia was right behind me, laughing lightly, though she was looking at Ginny's picture, which was facing the wall, with undisguised disgust. "Do you always turn your wife's picture away when I walk by?" She ran her fingertips over the nape of my neck as was her custom. It reminded me of the night before.

* * *

_We collapsed onto my bed and it lurched slightly; I remembered belatedly that it was an iron frame on a hardwood floor, and it would probably be scratched now._

_I didn't care._

_Patricia's lips pressed against mine, hot and heavy, and her tongue touched mine tentatively, despite the fact that we were already undressed and she was straddling me. A rush of euphoria ran through my body as she took control, pulling back from my swollen lips with a sigh._

_"This isn't right, Harry..." she said, though she didn't sound like she wanted to stop at all. "You have a loving girlfriend, fiancee," she corrected herself, "and you don't want to give that up for... well, for one night." She sighed again, and this time she really did sound like she was going to move._

_"Patricia," I said, looking in her deep blue eyes and running a hand through her hair. "Please... don't go." She was very still for a moment, and took advantage of her hesitation, kissing her lips gently and trailing my tongue across them._

_She melted in my arms, and I pulled her closer to me. Her legs locked around my waist and I rolled her sideways. I didn't rush, but I very quickly worked my hands downward, and she moaned when I put them between her legs for the first time._

_I was such a bastard for this, yet I felt I had to do it... to prove to myself that I wasn't just good enough for Ginny, I could be truly happy with someone else, even for only a moment. I wasn't trapped by my friendship with Ron, and my dedication to the Weasleys, and... Voldemort..._

_Patricia ran her fingertips down my neck suddenly, and I arched my back as she did so. She rolled me back over and straddled me again, this time truly taking control._

_As she pressed gentle kisses down my torso, I turned my head to the side. I gasped on instinct, stricken as I could smell Ginny's scent on the pillowcase I was laying on. Patricia continued on, oblivious, as I began to regret ever taking her here._

* * *

My neck was turning red, I was sure, but I did my best to ignore her rather apt observation. Still, I hurried to correct her. "She's not my wife..." I sounded lame, even to my own ears, but she merely laughed in her non-confrontational way (not at all like the way she had approached me earlier in the morning).

"Fiancee, wife; same difference to the mistress," she said, before deciding to change the subject abruptly. I didn't miss how her eyes turned sideways to look at Ginny's picture again, or how they looked intensely disdainful for all of two seconds. If I hadn't shagged her the night before, that would have been the proof needed to convince me she wanted me all to herself. "Anyway, I was about to head down to the meeting." She smiled expectantly. "Would you like to go together?"

I really, really didn't, but despite my misgivings, namely the fact that any one of the aurors or clerks could notice our familiarity and put two and two together, I figured I could play it off under the guise of an important discussion. "Certainly," I said, expertly formal, just as Kingsley's especially tall frame loomed over my cubicle. "Minister Shacklebolt!" I exclaimed, taken aback by his sudden appearance. I tried not to look guilty of anything, but I was well-aware of Patricia's closeness. She pinched my arse as I stood there addressing my superior, and it took a tremendous amount of will-power not to react.

"Oh, don't be so damn formal, Harry," he said, his white teeth gleaming as he smiled and shook my hand. "You're coming to the meeting, right? I need to speak to you a moment. Follow me," he said, turning away and speaking briefly to another auror.

Patricia glowered at Kingsley. "Spoilsport," she said, pinching me once more for good measure, this time on my forearm as she passed. "I'll see you in the meeting." I knew she wouldn't want to be long in the Minister's company, as she preferred being ignored, knowing that the more she was around the big wigs, the more likely it was she'd be shit-canned for something she did wrong.

"Bloody meeting," I mumbled, adjusting the collar of my robes. I joined Shacklebolt, who had one of the new clerks by his collar, and wasn't looking pleased. I matched his scowl momentarily, before realizing I was with the head honcho of the ministry. I adjusted my frown to polite interest. "Sir, you needed to speak to me?"

"Get to work, Guilford! I expect that paper work on my desk by the time I get back from the meeting!" The clerk, clearly distraught at being caught loafing by the minister, nearly ran to his desk. Shacklebolt looked like he was holding back a snicker at the young man's expense. "C'mon, Potter. I need to let off some steam, and you're the most level-headed person in this damn office, so let's go." He walked off, not bothering to see if I followed. He continued talking, as I hastened to catch up, not quite able to match his much longer stride. "As I'm sure you've already heard from Forthright, the French Minister of Magic will be dropping in to discuss the giant clan that's taking over the Chartreuse mountains, and request our assistance in keeping the giants away from Muggles in the area."

I didn't quite like the way this conversation was headed, as I sensed his idea of assistance was going to be throwing me headfirst into a war zone with a handful of rookie aurors. It wouldn't be the first time.

"Sir," I started, feeling a little faint just thinking about the Chartreuse mountains, "are you suggest-"

He cut me off with a look. "I'm not suggesting anything, Potter." The no-nonsense auror that had catupulted up the ranks and taken over the Ministry of Magic was staring me down stonily. Though I could never be afraid of the man, I felt a tremor of fear at what he was about to say. "You are the best fighter in the auror department by miles. Probably better than myself," he added, in an unexpectedly self-deprecating fashion. "Getting to the point: The French Minister has asked for you to lead not only the British, but also his own forces in a strike against the giants."

Fuck, I thought to myself, the feeling of fear twisting into trepidation. Screwed by the Minister of Magic all over again... Outloud, I merely thanked the Minister. "Sir, although I appreciate your consideration, I'm sure you're exaggerating my skill. I've no experience fighting giants, and the only two I've ever met are Hagrid and Grawp. They aren't... your conventional giants."

Shacklebolt merely quirked one dark brown eyebrow. "Are you questioning the French Minister's judgement, or refusing the mission Head Auror Hopkirk and I have assigned you?" His eyebrow dropped, whereas the left side of his lips shifted upward. He faced me with a self-satisfied smirk that reminded me distinctly of another auror-turned-Minister - Rufus Scrimgeour. I shook my head reluctantly. "I thought not," he continued. "You will greet the minister with respect, shake his hand, accept the mission, and you are free to select five aurors you would like to join you."

Only five aurors? Against an entire clan of giants? "Sir, with all due respect..."

"It's not enough to fight a giant clan? I know that, Potter, but we're not giving the French every auror we have when it's not a national threat. Besides, his intent is to push them back into their stronghold in the mountains, rather than eradicating them completely. Many more French aurors will be there to assist you, I'm sure."

That was marginally better, but still not enough to take away the sting of being in France for weeks, perhaps months. "Yes, sir," I muttered, noting that Shacklebolt was expecting a response.

The tall man looked down at me. "Harry, you're a great auror, and an even better leader." He lowered his voice, speaking to me man to man rather than treating me like a subordinate. "Hopkirk is retiring in a few months, and if you do this mission for me, I promise you'll be the one sitting at her desk come Spring."

Okay, that was quite a bit better. A large part of me yearned to be the Head Auror; though it would be a significantly more challenging job, I was well-respected by the other aurors and I had a good sense of how to do the job already. Furthermore, I would finally have a chance to change the ministry from the inside, which was something I had been dead set on doing since my Hogwarts' days. The pay raise was merely an afterthought.

"Yes, sir," I said again, this time smiling slightly. Shacklebolt wasn't so bad.

"Oh," he said, disrupting my thoughts. "I forgot to mention one little thing..."

By this time we had reached Hopkirk's office, which was full of aurors and clerks, though there were still some that were working at their desks. I could see through the window that Patricia was there, looking every bit the elegant young lady she was, talking animatedly with a man in royal blue that I found suspiciously familiar. Worry crept into my heart, quick and sudden and nauseating. "And what's that, sir?" I said, only the slightest hint of anger in my question.

Rather than reply, he stepped into the office, and quickly greeted in the man in blue. "Minister Dubois! Great to see you!" The older gentleman, who had a puffy red face with lightly gray hair fixed about his cheeks and chin, though the hair atop his head was a bright blonde, met Shacklebolt just inside the door with a firm handshake. "I trust your trip was uneventful?"

"Oh, yes... I appreciate you taking the time to hold this meeting. I know you are a very busy man, as am I, but these are sufficiently trying times for the French." He smiled, though it didn't quite reach his sharp blue eyes. After a moment's pause, he turned to the blonde next to him, and my stomach did such a backflip I was sure I was about to puke all over the office. "I'm sure you know my daughter, Patricia?"

Patricia_... Dubois_? She turned and shot me a grin, and I knew she had kept this very important information from me intentionally. How the fuck didn't I know this?

"Certainly!" Shacklebolt said, his booming voice echoing in the small office. Hopkirk winced from behind her desk, and one of the clerks near the back yelped, having been half asleep. "Patricia is one of our best clerks and we're glad to have her!" I knew she was half the clerk Forthright was, and her work ethic applied only to her makeup and hair, so it was obvious Shacklebolt was just trying to make nice with the minister.

"Thank you, sir," Patricia said softly, looking pleased.

"I do hope she has been working diligently," the French Minister said, eyeing his daughter warily. "Not like her seventh year at Beauxbatons!" She giggled lightly, slapping her father on the arm with a smile. "Why, we had to beat the young wizards off with a stick those last six months!"

"Oh, papa," she said, not displeased in the slightest. She glanced over at me again, though I forced myself to look down and away. I couldn't let her see how that last comment had effected me. Besides, that was years ago...

Her father laughed. "It's hard to believe it's been two years already!" Unable to help myself, I coughed uncontrollably. Forthright appeared out of nowhere and slapped me on the back good-naturedly.

"You alright?" he whispered. He looked at my surprised face, and correctly guessed the reason for my coughing fit, though I was sure he knew nothing of last night. "Bet you thought she was older, didn't you?"

"Shut up," I muttered, as all eyes fell on me. "Excuse me, sir... I must have, er, swallowed a fly, or something." I chuckled uneasily, feeling very hot with everyone's attention on me.

"Mr. Potter!" the French Minister exclaimed, his eyes on my scar. I shifted my feet nervously, but nodded in recognition. "You are the very reason for this meeting, so now that you're here, let us get started." He turned to Shacklebolt then, and the young man nodded, allowing Dubois to control the proceedings.

He left Patricia's side and walked over to stand by Mafalda. He waved a hand at her, and she pressed a button on the side of her desk. The wall behind her lit up like a Christmas tree, showing a large map of what I assumed were the Chartreuse mountains. Dots littered across the map moved slowly, and I imagined they must be the location of giants they had tagged with spells. Clever magic, I thought. Hermione would be impressed.

"According to the Chartreuse Compact of 1951, this is the area that the giants are allowed to occupy without fear of reprisal by Ministry forces." Minister Dubois said, conjuring a long, thin pole that reminded me of school back in Surrey. He pointed it at a part of the mountains that looked to my eyes like a crater. I did my best to pay attention, though my head was still abuzz with thoughts of Patricia, and how I had royally screwed my life up in one night. "Now, as you can see from the red dots outside of that area, the giants haven't been keeping their end of the compact."

This was obvious, as at least thirty dots were meandering up and down the surrounding mountains, and there were very few giants still in the crater. "Typically, we'd just allow them to roam in the area, and if a Muggle saw them we'd either Obliviate the poor saps, or convince them they had seen an Automobile Snowman..."

A few of the Muggleborn aurors snickered, though none of them did it very loudly. I kept a straight face, though I was reminded strongly of Arthur Weasley's affinity for Muggles.

The French Minister glanced around the room, but his eyes came to rest on me. "However, the giant clan's behavior as of late has been anything but typical. They have inflicted more damage on property in the last six days than in the previous sixty years, with three Muggles and one wizard being killed in the process." A gasp from one of the female clerk's went unnoticed as he continued. "We suspect that it is not merely giants wreaking havoc in the Chatreuse... we have found boot prints in the same areas as the attacks that could not have come from giants or the unfortunate victims. This leads us to believe that there may be dark wizards controlling the giants."

One of the senior Aurors, a testy middle-aged man with long brown hair, who I only knew by the name Bronson, interrupted the Minister. "Sir, with all due respect, why is it necessary for the French aurors to receive our help in this... conflict. Shouldn't you be able to control your own giants, just as we have ours?" He seemed to rethink what he said then, as if realizing he was a bit out of line. "Sorry, sir... I just, er, I'd like to better understand what you require from us."

Smooth, Bronson, I thought, and from Forthright's smirk, I could see he was thinking the same thing. A few other aurors seemed to take Bronson's side, and began speaking quietly amongst themselves, perhaps forgetting that they were in a room with two of the most powerful men on the Earth.

"That's enough," Shacklebolt said, with an air of finality that was not lost on the people in the room. "Minister Dubois cannot hope to control these giants alone, though his auror forces are as strong as ours. It takes eight simultaneous Stunners to put a typical giant to sleep, and as the Minister stated, these are not typical giants. It is likely that they have been corrupted by dark magic, and are resistant to standard spells. It will require a... more robust approach to handle this, and I think we can all imagine what kind of damage dozens of giants could do with the help of wizards. Even Voldemort," he said, causing some of the clerks to jump in their seats, "never had an entire giant clan at his disposal."

Everyone was silent after Shacklebolt spoke. It was almost a full minute before Dubois cleared his throat, and Hopkirk pressed the button on her desk once more, leaving her back wall as blank as before. "I have already spoken to Minister Shacklebolt privately about this mission, and he has thankfully allowed Auror Harry Potter," he paused, as all eyes turned to me once again, "to lead the entire operation. That means he will be put in charge of a select group of you, chosen by Mr. Potter, as well as the forces that are already at work in the mountains."

Shacklebolt cut in, adding, "We will give Harry the rest of the morning to make his decision about who will travel with him to the Chatreuse, near Saint-Pierre-d'Entremont..." he turned to Dubois, who was smiling, "I hope I didn't butcher that one, Minister."

"Not at all," he said, his smile growing. "That is all for this meeting; I appreciate each of you taking time out of your day to meet with me." I barely held back a snort at his expense, as no one wanted to meet with him, they just didn't have a choice. "You are free to go, but keep in mind that Mr. Potter may choose any of you to assist him." A few of the aurors stood at his announcement and made their way toward the door, but I stopped them in their tracks as I asked the minister a very important question.

"Sir, if I may..." He nodded, beckoning for me to continue. "Am I limited to choosing from only the aurors in this office?"

"No, no... not at all. I will, of course, demand that they are qualified, and employed by the British Ministry, but other than that... do as you please. You are the acting director of this mission, and though the objectives will be passed down to you from Minister Shacklebolt and I, I expect you to have full control of the operations. Is that sufficient, Mr. Potter?"

"Yes, sir."

"Very well, I won't keep you all away from your duties any longer. Off you go!" He shooed the others out of the office, before speaking over the top of the noise created by their exit. "Mr. Potter! A word, if you don't mind."

I certainly did mind, but it would be pointless to refuse the man. I nodded, waiting for the others to leave. I noted that Kingsley, Mafalda and Patricia also stayed behind. I slowly walked over to the minister, and he greeted me with a firm handshake. His palms were clammy and strange, but he smiled in my face as if he'd known me my whole life.

"Harry," he said, addressing me by my first name and making me feel thoroughly uncomfortable. With his daughter, the woman I had just cheated on my fiancee with the night before, standing right next to us, the tension was about to kill me. She was still smiling like this was her plan all along... to make me meet her extremely powerful father with absolutely no preparation beforehand. It probably was, actually.

Dubois said something that I missed, but it must have been a friendly greeting, as he very quickly cut to the chase. "I hope you understand how difficult it was for us to get ahold of you, and the lengths that we went to trying to get you away from Shacklebolt for a few weeks..."

Kingsley chuckled. "Let's just hope that we have a quick conclusion to this conflict. The auror department will be a mess while he's gone."

Usually I appreciated Kingsley talking me up to powerful people, but in this case, I'd rather they all shut up and let me wallow in my self-inflicted misery, at least for a few minutes. "I'm sure Mrs. Hopkirk will be able to cope, even without some of her best aurors." The Minister glanced at Hopkirk, who was looking at me.

"Do you have anyone in mind, Harry? Perhaps Ron Weasley?" she asked, knowingly. If anything like this was asked of me, I usually chose Ron to accompany me.

"I... haven't really had much time to consider it, mum. I know a few that are great in a firefight, but they might not be up for the trip, or the cold for that matter." I knew that whoever I picked would be forced to go with me or risk a Ministry inquiry, but that didn't mean I wanted to put my best friends in that position. Ron would probably accept just because I asked him.

"Well, Harry," Dubois said, smoothly moving around me and wrapping a careful arm around his daughter, "if I might suggest one... ah, special addition to your team, how about Patricia goes with you?"

"WHAT?" Patricia and I both overreacted to the minister's suggestion, before calming ourselves down belatedly. Hopkin laughed uneasily from behind her desk. "I'm sorry, father, but I don't see-"

"Of course you don't see, child!" he said, laughing in a way that made me think he treated Patricia like this regularly. Her petulant face eyed her father with anger. "I got you this position, at the English ministry, so that you would be able to get out of France and become a great witch! I didn't want your head being clouded with boys, and getting knocked up before your twentieth birthday..."

"Like mother?!"

"Yes, just like your mother!" The French Minister sighed, visibly trying to diffuse some of his anger. "Look, Patricia... this isn't really about Beauxbatons, boys, or even you. Harry is going to need someone he knows well enough to issue his orders to our aurors, and there is no way they'd disregard an order from the Minister's daughter!" He chuckled, as if imagining the poor sod who would even try. "Besides, this is an excellent opportunity to get some field experience, that is... if Minister Shacklebolt and Harry of course, don't mind."

He said it as if it we better well go along with what he said or there would be trouble. Shacklebolt thought it over for a moment, before easily nodding his head, while I was quite a bit more reluctant. How would it look that this clerk, the French Minister's daughter no less, would be accompanying me to the mountains of France? Ginny might not suspect anything fishy with Patricia, but she was already going to be pissed I was going on a mission just a month and a half away from our wedding date.

"Er, not at all, sir. I'm sure Patricia," I cleared my throat, "I mean, Ms. Dubois, is a very capable witch." I refused to look at Patricia, who was probably staring daggers at me right now. It was ironic that she didn't want to go just as much as I didn't want her to go, when last night, I literally begged her not to go...

I decided I needed a headache potion, and quickly.  
"Good! Now, Patricia has informed me that you will be meeting us for lunch today. That is very good news! We will discuss the mission, and Patricia's role in everything, while we're eating. I'm sure you'll be very busy this morning getting your affairs in order before you leave." That was an understatement; my affair with Patricia had left my entire life 'out of order'.

He watched me for a moment, and when I forced a smile, he slapped me on the back and moved to join Shacklebolt by the door. "Kingsley and I need to discuss some other business, but I will meet you at the restaraunt at noon, dear." The last comment was for Patricia, who still looked very angry at her fathers actions.

"Yes, sir," she growled, as he left, Kingsley in tow.

Again, Hopkirk laughed uneasily. She seemed suddenly aware of the tumultuous looks on our faces, and I knew she could sense something was very wrong between us, though, as with Forthright, I knew she didn't have an inkling as to what had taken place the night before. "Well, er... I've got to use the loo!" she whispered. The comment was said in a rush, as she bolted for the door. Apparently Hopkirk did not want to be in the middle of this argument, one that was bound to rattle the office walls.

Patricia rounded on me, facing me with a glare. "You could have resisted! You know I'm not going to be able to help you guys in the fucking mountains! I mean, I'm not bad with a wand, and obviously I'm fluent in French, but what the hell am I gonna do against giants?"

"Well," I snarled, "you could have told me you were the French Minister of Magic's daughter!" I turned away from her for a moment, deciding to send my stormy look at the clerks working near Hopkirk's office. One of them caught me looking and scurried away, looking worriedly over her shoulder. "How do you think I felt, when the first time I realized you were nineteen and the Minister's daughter, I was standing next to your bloody father!" I scowled, turning back to look at Patricia, who was trying to control her emotions with very little success.

"What the hell does that matter?" If anything, trying to turn the argument against her only made her more angry; her eyes narrowed sharply, and she growled again. "My father shouldn't have anything to do wit this, and don't you dare act like you are this... elder wizard!

"Oh, believe me, it matters! And now I have to babysit you in the bloody Chartreuse mountains, just because your dad wants you to grow up and get some bloody field experience!" I scoffed, causing her face to burn bright red.

In fact, for a moment, she looked angry enough to attack me bare-handed, though she fortunately restrained herself. "Grow up? Grow up? You weren't asking me to grow up when I _fucked you _last night!" She yelled the last few words, causing more than a few heads to rise outside the office, though I couldn't tell if they had actually heard what she said. In that moment, it didn't matter to me, as I was so angry I couldn't keep from yelling back.

"Look, Patricia, you _are_ too young and too unexperienced for this mission! You haven't been through a day of auror training, and now you're father is forcing me to take you to fight an entire giant clan! Think about it! Sixteen foot tall men that swing tree trunks like clubs, and would rip a cattle's head off with their bare hands! And dark wizards _may _be in control of their every move!"

She had been angrily gripping Hopkirk's desk, but suddenly she looked up, catching my eye. She was unexpectedly breathless. "Oh, my god," she said in fright, as if she'd just now realized what I had been telling her the entire time. "We're going to be fighting... _giants_?"

Her whispered statement caught me off-guard, and despite my best efforts, I dissolved in a fit of giggles. Her appalled face was even worse; I was soon guffawing so hard I held my sides. My life was going to shit, my mind was spinning, and I couldn't help thinking that giants wouldn't be able to hurt me at all.

Ginny was going to kill me before I ever got to France.

* * *

_-end of Chapter Two-_


	3. The Home Front

**Chapter Three: The Home Front**

I walked into the house at a quarter after eleven, sweeping the door open with my wand. I frowned at the whining dog nudging my feet; apparently, Mutt (Ron gave him the name and it was all he answered to) had decided to come back after a few days. I bent down to scratch behind his ears, and I couldn't help but notice he looked a bit skinnier than before. Pitying the poor pup, I conjured a bowl of dog food and laid it at his muddy paws. When he dug in, I cleared him of any muck and grime, which he was unsurprisingly ungrateful for. Last, but perhaps most importantly, I added a fragrance charm that left the dog smelling, quite literally, like roses.

"Honey, I'm home!" I yelled, crossing the threshold and removing my robes. I laid them on the table and walked through the washroom, entering the kitchen to find Hermione sitting at the table all alone. "Where's Ginny?" I asked, turning my eyes to Hermione.

"Nice to see you, too!" she said sarcastically, elbowing me in the ribs as I stooped to give her a friendly hug. I winced, but the pain was only momentary. Hermione rose from her chair as I went over to the stove, fetching myself a bit of the treacle. "Ginny's upstairs freshening up. She's only been home an hour or so, and we... kind of lost track of time while we were talking. We weren't expecting you here this early."

Hermione and Ginny's friendship had only grown as we all got older; once Hogwarts was over, and especially after Ron and Hermione got married, the two friends had found kindred spirits in each other and never hesitated to strike up a long conversation. "That's alright," I said, checking my watch again, "but I wish she would hurry because I have an important meeting at noon."

"What kind of meeting?" she asked, still as determined to learn something new as she had been in school. She raised one perfectly plucked eyebrow. "You aren't going on a mission, are you?"

_Damn, she's good_. After my moment's hesitation she snapped, "You aren't taking Ron with you, _are you_?" Her neck was beginning to turn red, but I calmly shook my head, recalling what Ron had said earlier that morning.

* * *

_"Why didn't you ask me to go to France?" _

_Ron was rightly peeved that I had neglected to tell him about my mission to France, and when Forthright told him about it, he ran straight to me, his ears bright red and a complaint on the tip of his tongue._

_"You don't think I'm qualified, but Patricia-freaking-clerk-girl is?" He was angry, but he sounded more hurt than anything. I could handle that. "Now I know you've got something going on with her!" He slammed his fist down on the desk, growing concerned as I didn't react, except to face him with a smile._

_"Ron, I didn't ask for Patricia to go. The French Minister - her father, by the way - made me take her with." I almost laughed as, predictably, Ron relaxed. He sat in the seat across from me (coincidentally, the same one I had conjured for Patricia the night before) and shook his head ruefully._

_"Sorry, Harry... I shouldn't have jumped to conclusions."_

_"It's okay. Albert probably only told you because he wanted to see how you'd react. I'd imagine he's..." I paused, standing up and looking over my cubicle to find Forthright smiling at me from his desk, "yep, staring right at us." I shook my head as well, chuckling quietly._

_"Well," Ron said, looking like he felt bad for me. "She's too young and unexperienced to be going on a mission like this."_

_"That's exactly what I said! I mean, I don't understand why her father would want her risking her life in the first place!"_

_"Maybe he figures, since, like Hermione says, you have a 'saving people thing', that you'll protect her. Of course, there's nothing you can do if a giant smacks her over the head with a tree, so maybe he's trying to kill her off."_

_His half-joking comment did not instill me with any confidence for our trip. "Thanks," I said, rolling my eyes. "I really needed that this morning."_

_"No problem," Ron said, before he furrowed his brow in confusion. "Hey, wait... you never answered my question! Why didn't you ask me to go on the mission? You know I would have accepted!"_

_I certainly wasn't going to tell him the truth, as the quite convoluted answer to that question would most assuredly spell the end of our friendship, and probably land me a black eye to boot. I didn't want him going because I was absolutely sure Patricia would be all over me at some point, despite the fact we argued today. She was one of those people that always got what she wanted, and I knew plainly that, as the very thing she desired, I was sure to be in for it the first time we were alone in frozeb,_

_The fact we were going to be fighting giants in the blistering cold on a mission for two countries in conjuction had no bearing whatsoever on her sexual inhibitions, which, as far as I could tell from the night before, were very few in number. Suddenly blind-sided by guilt, I gulped heavily and concocted a brilliant, but far-too-easy lie._

_"You know what kind of verbal beating I get from Hermione every damn time I take you on a mission! 'Don't let him get hurt, Harry, or you better at least go down with him!' and 'why does Ron always come home with a headless beast as a trophy? The living room is a mess as it is!' or, my personal favorite, 'don't let him eat too much before bed'..."_

_Ron laughed, already supremely aware of the things Hermione said before, during and after our missions. Sounding a bit morose, he whinged, "She won't let me have snacks at night anymore. She says the other night I shit myself in my sleep-"_

_"Way, way too much information!" We laughed, though I really had to wonder if he was telling the truth or not. I preferred to be left in the dark about that aspect of my friend's life... especially after his outburst in the bathroom earlier in the day._

_After a few moments, Ron stopped laughing and looked at me seriously - at least, seriously for Ron. "So, you didn't pick me for the job because of Hermione?" All too quickly I agreed, the convenient excuse made for me, but he said, "bullshit, Harry. I know you better than that. You would have fought for me to go if you thought it was necessary."_

_I sighed, running my increasingly worn-looking hands through my hair. I was, as Ginny delighted in telling me, becoming a worry wort to match her mother. "Yeah, usually I would, Ron, but this time it's different. I mean, I got saddled with this thing, so I have to go or lose my job. You, on the other hand, aren't involved in this at all. If had a choice between staying here and going, I'd certainly stay."_

_"That's a little better, but it's not the full truth." Ron could read me more easily than anyone else, even Hermione. It was a product of spending seven years almost constantly within arm's reach of each other. As lame as it sounded, it was still unavoidably true. _

_It also meant he could tell when I wasn't being truthful myself, which, in this case, was a pain in my ass. "Come on, Ron, why are you even going back and forth with me? You'll be of better use to the Ministry if you're here. Who knows, you might even end up getting that raise you asked for..." The last part was said encouragingly, but he easily evaded my attempt at buttering him up._

_"Whatever, Harry." He eyed me warily. "Why is Patricia really on this mission? You said you had the final say on it, and from what I heard, you didn't fight very hard for her to stay... though I find it funny you end up fighting with her." He was slowly piecing it together, which spurred me into saying-_

_"I had no choice but to accept, Ron! Shacklebolt had already given the go ahead, and it was Dubois' fucking idea to begin with." I could feel myself getting angry, so I tried my best to calm down. I knew what Ron would think if I got defensive, and it definitely wouldn't end well for me. In a burst of inspiration, I tried using a different approach. "Look, if you really want to go, you can come. I told Shacklebolt I wanted to take Craft, Zeller and Burke, as well as Withey, the new guy. His stunner is the most powerful of all of them."_

_Ron thought for a few moments before speaking - completely out of character for my best friend - and seemed to come to a startling conclusion. "All single men with no family ties... are you trying to die out there or something?" _

_I couldn't help it; I laughed, shaking my head. "Really, Ron? Am I suicidal now?"_

_"I don't know," was his casual reply. "I used to think you were, y'know, back in Hogwarts. As a matter of fact," he said, sounding a lot like Hermione, "you did just... let Voldemort kill you." _

_I rolled my eyes, even though he was technically accurate. "Well, I don't have a bleeding horcrux in my forehead now, and I'm not going out there to die. I'm going out there to hurry the hell up and get home alive before I miss my own marriage ceremony and Ginny murders me anyway." That made Ron laugh, and thankfully, he decided to let up on the suicide business. Unfortunately, that meant he brought the conversation full circle, focusing on the one thing I didn't want to talk about._

_"So, how do you think it's gonna be?" He leaned back in his chair contentedly. "Stuck with p-precious Patricia in the p-perilous mountains?"_

_"I think it'll be p-pretty shitty, but that's only p-partly her fault." He snickered, and I dropped the stuttering act. "Apparently, Dubois thinks it'll be some kind of grand learning experience for her, but I have... some reservations about the mission. It feels awfully... contrived, doesn't it?" Ron didn't hesistate to nod, and I realized that this operation was terribly transparent, even to someone who usually kept his head down like Ron. It wouldn't take much for someone to let it slip I was in Paris with Patricia, and that would spell disaster for my personal and professional life._

_"Shacklebolt's obviously getting _something_ out of this, though I'm not sure what, and Dubois has his heart set on the _great_ Harry Potter being in charge, so if nothing else, I know I'm being set up by those two. But honestly, Ron, that part of it doesn't even bother me; I'm used to Shacklebolt throwing me in these situations, with little to no regard for, well, anything really. I just... I don't know where Patricia fits into all of this. There is no way the most powerful man in France just sends his daughter on a mission she's not prepared for." I had a sinking feeling that this all came back to the night before, and the sudden spark of passion between myself and the minister's daughter, but I certainly wasn't going to voice my fears._

_Ron, in his non-chalant manner, said, "Maybe he wants her to marry you or something?" I choked, and Ron reached across the desk to slap my back, knowing that it was his words that had caused that reaction. "Sorry, Harry!" When he went to sit back down, his chair had disappeared; the spell I cast the night before had chosen that moment to fully wear off, and Ron fell to the ground heavily, throwing his hands up in a futile attempt to grab something._

_Despite my coughing fit, I laughed uproariously, pointing at my friend, who was red in the face. Fortunately, he looked like he was embarrassed more than angry. "That's what you get! Don't say things like that," I warned him in a mocking tone._

_"You could have told me you Conjured this _bloody_ chair," he said, before Conjuring himself one to replace it. He set himself down a bit more carefully and changed the subject. "Whatever it is Dubois wants, it can't be good for _you_. I don't think he's a bad guy, per se, but he probably has _something _up his sleeve. I remember Dad used to say Dubois was a master manipulator, and that's how he got himself into office to begin with."_

_In my personal opinion, the man had to be a few knuts short of a galleon to send his daughter to fight giants, but I knew I'd find out more when we had lunch that afternoon. "Well, I'm sure he'll tell me what it is he wants when we have lunch.. I'm supposed to meet Ginny and Hermione at home at noon, but I think I'll just go home a little early, so I can eat with the minister." And Patricia, I almost said, before biting back the words at the last second. _

_"Well, I'm not taking lunch until one today, so tell Hermione-"_

* * *

"No, Ron's not going this time. He says he loves you and he'll meet you at home at one, by the way." She nodded, looking satisfied. Before she could ask, I said, "I decided he'd be more useful to the ministry - and you, of course - if he was home."

"Good boy," she said sarcastically, patting me on the head. "Ron probably _begged_ you to let him go, since we're going to see my parents this weekend, and next weekend-"

I tuned her out for the most part as she went on to elaborate on their plans for the next few weekends, where they were sure to visit quite a bit of each other's family, having absolutely no fun in the process. I did injerject an opinion here and there, telling Hermione that she should take Ginny with her to see Ron's Aunt Muriel, but I was kindly rebuffed with a look that said, 'you are going to leave me in charge of not one, not two, but_ three _stubborn, ill-tempered Weasleys? Ah, _fuck you_, sir-'

It was as I made this particular suggestion that Ginny finally decided to waltz her way downstairs. For her, that meant literally dancing down the staircase, holding the rail and favoring one leg to the point that she hopped down the last few steps. "Ow," she said by way of greeting, before adding, "some fiancee you are, suggesting I spend time with my most-hated relatives!"

"Oh, _dear_," I said, inexplicably feeling like pushing her buttons a bit. "It is very important to spend as much time with our families as possible. Especially your Aunt Muriel, seeing as she's... _getting on up in years_." That was a polite way of putting it; another, less politically correct way, was saying the bitch looked ready for her deathbed.

"The old bat can rot for all I care," she said, turning her nose up at the idea. "Last time I visited her with Ron she made both of us sit in the corner and play with dolls." She huffed. "As if _I _would ever play with _dolls!_" I neglected to mention that she had often played with my 'Boy Who Lived doll' as a child.

Hermione laughed. "I bet Ron _loved _that." I imagined Ron playing with Barbie dolls - in my mind's eye, the dolls had been brutalized Dudley Dursley-style, with torn off body parts and doctored facial expressions - and I couldn't resist laughing right along with her.

"Oh, no," Ginny said, giggling, "you weren't there. Ron did accidental magic that made the dolls start hovering around the room like Quidditch players. We actually ended up having a lot of fun, that is, until _Auntie Muriel _sat and watched us to make sure we weren't _up to anything_." She shook her head, still steaming about something that happened more than a decade ago.

Hermione stood up with a gasp. "I forgot to turn the oven off at home!" I shook my head, still amazed that Hermione refused to cook 'the wizard way', preferring to burn her bread or undercook her meat rather than allow her magic to make her meal perfectly for her. I admired her strength, really, but I wasn't about to go back to burning my hands accidentally. "I'll be right-" she said, before cutting herself off by twisting and Apparating out of our living room.

Ginny shook her head, but smiled softly, gracing me with the happy-go-lucky expression that had pulled my heartstrings for years. She turned to me, giving me a hug and hanging one loose arm around my shoulders. I was struck by how small she was compared to Patricia, and then immediately felt guilty for it. Her arm tightened around my neck, and she pulled my head down, looking me in the eyes as if she was trying to read my mind - fortunately, Ginny had never bothered with Occlumency or Legilimency, so my treacherous thoughts remained hidden from my wife-to-be.

"Hey, babe," she muttered as she pressed her lips briefly against mine. Her forehead came to rest against my own, and despite the tumultuous day I felt better. "So, did you have something to tell me?"

Just like that, I felt like shit again. Trying to prolong the calm before the storm, I shook my head. "Why don't you tell me what happened to your leg first? That's what's most important to me."

She rolled her eyes, but looked pleased by my interest in her injury nonetheless. "Well, we had practice yesterday - same as _any day_, really - but it wasn't a lot of work because we all needed to be ready for today. So, we go back to the hotel room, and some of the girls decided they hadn't had enough practice for one day, so they start tossing the quaffle around."

"Well, I wasn't feeling up to it, plus I'm a seeker anyway, so I skipped out and decided to hit the showers instead. Hegel, that frosty little you-know-what, throws the quaffle from all the way across the room and beams me right in the bloody knee! And I do mean bloody," she said, pulling up her cargo shorts, revealing smooth porcelain skin, except for the area around her knee, which looked gouged by a wolverine.

"Damn," I said softly, inspecting her leg a little more closely in the light from the kitchen windows. "Are you sure you don't need to go to St. Mungo's?"

"Nah, I had the team healer check it over yesterday, and she gave me some Essence of Murtlap for it - not that we don't already have tons of the stuff here for _your_ injuries! I should be fine in a few days." She smiled as I slowly ran a hand down her thigh and to her knee. Abruptly, she changed the subject. "No more hesitating, Potter! Out with it. What are you _dreading _to tell me?"

I sighed. "You promise not to get mad at me?" I figured it was a pointless question, as she was likely to get mad at me regardless, but I wasn't in a hurry to start explaining.

She faced me with a glare, though I was sure once I told her what I'd be doing for the next month her expression was going to intensify, along with her anger. "Just tell me, Harry."

"Well, it's like this," I said, taking off my glasses and wiping them on my shirt before replacing them on my head. She made a murmur of discontent, obviously thinking I was taking too long. "Shacklebolt, along with the French Minister of Magic, made me the leader of a group of five aurors going to help the French, ah... _defend themselves_."

"Mhmm," she murmured, searching my eyes for any sign of deceit. "And what are they supposed to be _defending themselves from, _Harry? Dark wizards? Giants-" She was being sarcastic, but her guess had been remarkably close.

"Right in one," I muttered, before belatedly lowering my head and looking at the ground. She didn't seem happy to be right. "The gist of it is some dark wizards have taken control of a giant clan in the Chartreuse mountains, and I'm supposed to lead the operation to either bring in the wizards, or force the giants back into their tidy crater in the mountains. Neither seem very easy, and both will require more manpower than what they are giving me, but.. well, I have to go to France," I finished lamely, looking back up.

She shook her head, starting to get irritated; the sudden blush creeping up her neck was the first sign she was about to blow up on me. Treading carefully around my girlfriend, I added, "I shouldn't be gone very long-"

She cut me off. "_How long_?" she asked, stretching the words. She wasn't full-on furious yet, but I sensed it was coming right around the corner. "You said you wouldn't be leaving on a mission for at least six months!" She put one hand on her hip, unintentionally mimicking her mother. "Do you _recall _that our wedding is in two weeks? How are you going to get fitted for your tuxedo? How are we going to pick out the cake? How are we going to have time to finish the decorations if you're never even here!" This was all said very quickly. "Harry Potter, you answer me right now: _How long?" _Her emotions boiled over when I sighed.

"A week... ah, _maybe_ a little more-" As swift as if she was snatching a Snitch out of the sky, she swept a plate off the table, growling as the treacle fell to the ground and splattered across the linoleum, "-but there_ is _some good news!"

She stopped for a moment, breathing heavily, shifting her weight off of her injured knee. She seemed to regret her outburst, but it had already happened, and it was way too late to take it back. "There better be some good news, because I'm about to... I don't know! _Blow up the damn Ministry building_!" I was pretty sure she wasn't serious, but she had literally destroyed half the Department of Mysteries in her fourth year, so I explained as quickly as I could just to be on the safe side.

"Shacklebolt told me once I'm finished with this mission, I'll be the one sitting behind the head's desk." That calmed her anger somewhat, as she pulled a chair and sat down, the corner of her lips finally quirking upward in a smile. "And Ginny, I promise, whatever you need for this wedding..." I took a deep breath, "you can have it. I want it to be the best day of both of our lives..."

"Well," she said, through her teeth, "I'm still mad, but..." Ginny tried to force a smile, and a bit of her typically bubbly nature came back, "at least, _that _is some good news!" Over the table she squeezed my hand, and I felt some measure of relief that I had told her I was going away, and the only thing broken was the china. My muttered _Reparo _set that to rights immediately.

It was at this moment that Hermione popped back into the room, causing Ginny to shriek and knock another plate off of the counter. "What the hell-"

Hermione gasped. "Why did you waste all of my treacle tart!" Her shriek, louder than Ginny's, caused me to take a couple of steps backwards. Her attention was on Ginny, who had handfuls of treacle stuck to her clothes, and pressed against the countertop as I was, I quickly used my wand to siphon some of the treacle into a container. I hid it under my robes for the time being, and turned back around to see Hermione berating Ginny. "Do you realize how hard I had to work to cook treacle on a _bleeding _stove!"

Ginny's multitude of apologies fell on deaf ears, but a hastily given hug and promise by the redhead to cook treacle the Muggle way at the first opportunity calmed the girls enough that neither were visibly angry anymore. Hermione turned to me and said, "Ginny was saying you had some good news when I popped in, _so_?" She trailed off, given me the look that said 'you better tell me now', though I waved a hand at Ginny, my mouth conveniently full of gooey treacle.

"He said that he's going to be the Head Auror when he gets back! Isn't that exciting!"

Hermione leapt up from her seat and hugged me, her small, pert breasts shoved up and under my rib cage like two pointed rocks. Apparently it was cold in Bristol.

"Oh, Harry," she enthused, "I'm so proud of you! You've worked so hard since you've been at the Ministry... _and_ I bet that makes you the youngest department head they've ever had!"

I sneered, suddenly annoyed with my pending promotion; I thought I had put all of the 'youngest of the century' mess behind after Hogwarts, but apparently, I'd be forced to live with it the rest of my life. Then again, I _had _earned the title as well as the position, so perhaps it wasn't all so bad.

"I'd rather just be the best department head I can be, Hermione, you know that." She nodded, having heard plenty of complaints about my fame in her lifetime.

"I know, but you truly deserve it, Harry." She smiled, and I leaned forward to give her another light, one-armed hug, looking at Ginny the entire time. Once upon a drunken revelry, I had initiated a two-armed hug where our faces came rather close to each other, and I still had a scar on my arse from the Itching Hex Ginny had put on my briefs the next morning. No one held a grudge over the incident, but I certainly wasn't risking another raw ass cheek for a half-hearted hug with Hermione.

"Oh, I almost forgot, Hermione! Harry also said," Ginny exclaimed, gracing me with a huge smile, "since he's _leaving_ me before the wedding... I can get anything I want!" The two girls embraced each other, and though I felt another sinking feeling - this time somewhere around my wallet - I was thankful Hermione and Ron would be there for Ginny while I was gone. I stifled a laugh as I saw Ginny non-chalantly massage her stomach after the two girls stopped hugging.

"Anyway," I said, checking my watch again and noticing I was almost late, "I don't have a lot of time to talk right now, because I have to meet Dubois at noon, so we'll all get together to celebrate later." Two sets of eyebrows rose at my declaration, and Ginny's formed a look of confusion. "Right?" I said, suddenly unsure.

"Dubois?" I could see her brain speeding rapidly toward the proper conclusion, and I definitely didn't want her catching a whiff of the unwieldy truth hanging around the auror department. "Don't tell me you're leaving us to have lunch with Patricia Dubois!" She stood up again and came rather close to the treacle, which Hermione had instinctively moved over to protect. I kept my eyes on the knife on the table, which had suddenly moved a few inches toward Ginny in an apparent bout of accidental magic.

"I'm eating with the French Minister of Magic. It's just a coincidence that she's his daughter, Ginny." Hermione gasped in surprise, but if Ginny was surprised, she certainly didn't let it show. Instead, she nearly snarled at me.

"I swear on my brother's grave, Harry, if I find out that _bitch _Dubois is involved in this," she warned, before cutting her eyes to the door where Mutt was just coming inside, "you'll be eating your dinner in a bowl in the yard alongside the damn dog!"

"It doesn't have anything to do with her, Ginny! I was asked, like I told you, to lead the French against the giants-"

"_So_," she said, cutting me off, her attitude coming through in waves, "unless you can tell me, without a shadow of a doubt, that Patricia is _not _involved in this mission, don't say _anything_." I opened my mouth to assure her everything was fine, before I realized I would be lying and that my fiancee would easily find out the truth in my absence. Nothing less than the truth would settle her emotions, and yet the truth was bound to earn me a night sleeping on the couch. I decided giving her an apologetic look would be the best course of action, but her face remained very still.

The house was silent for a moment until Ginny stood up to leave the kitchen, groaning in pain as she moved her lower body. "Here, let me help you," I said, before she gave me a look that stopped me in my tracks.

"I'll help you, Ginny," Hermione said, bracing her friend with an arm and leading her out of the room. My bushy-haired friend shot a look over her shoulder that didn't seem angry, just disappointed in me. Unfortunately, that stung a lot worse than anger.

"Bye, Harry," Ginny yelled, from the other side of the door. "We'll talk when you get home..." The sense of finality in those two words could not be mistaken. I waited a minute or two, and after no one came back into the kitchen, I decided to just go ahead and meet the Minister. Hopefully, I could patch things up with Ginny before I left for France. I worried that if I didn't, she would end up calling the wedding off.

As I Apparated away, my treacherous heart asked me if that was what I really wanted all along.

"Harry!" Dubois exclaimed, waving to me with his fork before swallowing a massive mouthful of food; the Minister's behavior immediately reminded me of Ron, who had greeted me in much the same way when I met him for lunch earlier in the week. Of course, Ron's metabolism gave him a lanky figure whereas Henri Dubois carried a virtual whale belly under his suit coat, but I had no doubt that Ron could match him bite for bite. "Have a seat!" The boisterous Minister offered me the chair across from him, and I hastened to take it before he changed his mind and placed me next to his alluring daughter.

The restaurant was expensively decorated - that much was obvious from the gold-trimmed cutlery, the chandeliers hanging in the large dining room, and the stiff-looking waiters - and my assumption that the Minister would try to impress me with a fancy dinner was proven accurate. I tried to avoid looking directly at Patricia, as she was wearing a rather revealing light blue dress that left little to the imagination, though, of course, I had seen the real thing the night before. Despite my efforts, I ended up diverting my attention away from Henri, and slightly favoring his pretty daughter.

"Sorry I was late, sir," I said, by way of greeting. "I had a spot of trouble finding the restaurant; I've been to this part of Diagon Alley a hundred times, but each time it seems like I find something new." My smile was lost on Patricia, who seemed uncomfortable in the situation, but her father nodded obliviously, looking quite happy.

"It is not a problem at all, son," he said, and my stomach twisted nauseatingly. _Did he really just call me son? _"I hope you don't mind that we started without you. Patricia tried to get me to wait, but it seems like everytime I take a Portkey I'm absolutely famished!" He chuckled, quite to himself as neither of us returned his laughter, before calmly gracing his daughter with a look that apparently meant it was her turn to talk.

"I'm sorry about our fight," she said, quietly and dispassionately enough that I could tell she had been put up to it by her father. While she was quite rude, I didn't expect anything less from her under the circumstances, and honestly, her behavior really hadn't bothered me to begin with. My problems were tied in with hers, but they were certainly far more terrifying for me. Besides, Patricia had probably planned this from the beginning. I couldn't imagine she had anything to lose by linking up with one of the world's most popular people.

"It's quite alright," I said dismissively, to her father's glee. "I'm sure the stress of the day made you over-react." She made a face at that, but I didn't really care. I was feeling like taking some petty revenge on her for putting me in this situation, so irking her nerves even a little bit pleased me significantly. "Sir, if you don't mind me asking," I said, changing the subject, "why did you want me for this mission so badly? Any of our high-ranking aurors could have handled something on this scale, so why ask for me by name?"

Dubois took a swallow of his drink before applauding my question as if I had told a particularly good story. "I like a man that gets straight down to business, Potter - you'll find that most in our line of work run their mouths, on and on, and on and on-"

I found it rather ironic that Dubois was doing the exact thing he was complaining about. Patricia seemed to notice as well, judging by the quick roll of her eyes.

"But that's not me at all! Business before pleasure I always say!" His exclamations seemed out of place in the sophisticated restaurant, but no one turned their heads to shush him; when no one in the immediate area gave us more than a cursory glance, I realized that one of the two of them must have set up a Silencing ward around the area before I came - most likely the Minister himself. It could _potentially_ be detrimental to the cause if the wrong people overheard us, so I was at least thankful our discussion would be kept to ourselves.

"To answer your question, Harry, I asked for you because_ you_, out of all the British aurors, are most familiar with dark wizards and their methods." He paused for a moment. "And despite what I may have told everyone in Hopkirk's office, I have proof that dark wizards are working with the giants."

Dubois passed me a folder across the table. It read "Confidential: Chatreuse Conflict" with each C significantly larger than the other letters. The first few pages were a table of contents, but it was obvious from the pictures in the folder that the giants were fearsome beasts, unafraid of the repercussions from their murderous actions; one such photo was despicable, with the snow-covered countryside splattered by the blood of decapitated sheep corpses.

"Now," Henri started, after I had been given a few moments to peruse the folder, "from what Minister Shacklebolt has told me, you are capable of throwing off the Imperius curse, you've been exposed to the Cruciatus on multiple occasions, and, of course, you've survived the killing curse twice. As you can imagine, there are no others available with those particular...ah, _qualifications_..."

Patrica gave me a brief glance, looking up at my forehead, but otherwise she didn't react to her father's words.

"I understand that, _sir_," I said, only the slightest bit of anger sliding into my words, "but why even-"

"Potter, don't assume that this is all about _you_." My jaw dropped, as the Minister and I turned to look at Patricia, who had rather rudely cut me off. "This mission sets the groundwork for a new level of cooperation between the French and British ministries, and as the most highly recognized auror in our department, you should consider yourself lucky to be a part of it." Her eyes were fixed on mine, challenging me. I merely remained straight-faced, waiting for her father to sort her out.

"Now, now, Patricia, you'll have to excuse Mr. Potter for not seeing the 'political' side of the equation; he is a valiant defender of our ideals, but he may not be familiar with the inner workings of such a plan, or the repercussions of our actions if we fail - which we have yet to discuss." I certainly didn't like the way they were talking about me as if I had lived under a rock my whole life, but I decided to bite my lip until they offered me more information.

"Yes, father," Patricia muttered, her eyes cut sideways at me. She was obviously trying to get some petty revenge out of our conversation too. "If I may?" At his look of acknowledgement, she continued. "Harry, the reason you have been linked with this mission, is because of the political situation in France. The Ministry has been getting swamped with owls from people near the Chatreuse who are afraid - not only for their lives, but for their property and possessions in the mountains. The giants have eaten livestock, destroyed farms and homes, and just recently, they ransacked a Muggle ski resort, making it the first time in nearly sixty years that a Muggle has been killed by a giant - worldwide. Mutilated corpses of dogs, horses, sheep and deer have been found lining the roads, and even the Muggles are getting suspicious." She paused for a moment to take a sip of Champagne, raising the glass daintily to her full, pink lips. "When the local French paper started printing stories of an abominable snowman, Daddy knew he had to act."

It amused me that, despite her 'I'm a professional and will be treated like one' attitude, she still referred to the most powerful man in France as 'Daddy'.

"Thank you, Patricia," he said, smiling dotingly. "I decided very quickly that just fighting the giants would do no good, especially if we were losing as much as we gained. My intention from the beginning was three-fold. First, I had to silence the Muggle papers, which I did by sending Obliviators to the homes of each individual that phoned in the stories. Second, I wanted to call attention to the ordeal, and use it to garner favoritism amongst the elite in France and England, which, of course, meant getting Shacklebolt and your ministry on our side - no easy feat, might I add." He chuckled. "Kingsley can be a hard-nosed negotiator, but even he could recognize the value of our nations working together."

The bigger picture was finally beginning to get painted for me; this operation was less about the rampaging giants, and more about the giant potential of having two great nations work in conjuction to eliminate a problem. If the bond could be strengthened further, then the United Kingdom could expect France to lend them a hand if it was ever needed. During Voldemort's temporary reign, none of the nations of the world would dare communicate, much less offer any help. Hopefully, this was the beginning of great - or at least _better _- things to come.

On paper, it looked like an excellent idea, but I figured an inordinate amount of gold had been transferred to seal the deal. I couldn't help feeling like I was the figurehead of some ill-conceived political game, and if any of it was to go wrong, I would be the one lying in ruin in the aftermath. Becoming Head Auror wasn't enough of a prize for enduring two worlds of strife if it all fell to shit... not to mention no one in their right mind would make me the head of their police force if this mission went wrong. After that realization, strangely, I felt more determined to succeed despite the odds stacked against me. Patricia sharply tapping her fork on her plate brought me out of my thoughts, and I noticed Dubois was talking, and had been doing so for a while.

"-and that's the most important part," he was saying. "You are legendary, even in France, and our only real link to the giants - Madame Maxine, of Beauxbations - thinks that you are the next coming of Albus Dumbledore." Inwardly I winced, though I was careful not to let my emotions settle on my face; I loathed being compared to Dumbledore, as I didn't think I was near as talented (or manipulative) as the wizard I had once considered my mentor. I had even thought about naming one of my kids after the man, out of respect for his sacrifice, but that didn't mean I wanted to _be _like Dumbledore!

Patricia scoffed. "He's no Albus Dumbledore." Despite the fact I had just been thinking I wasn't Dumbledore, the blonde with a sudden, inexplicable vendetta against me certainly didn't need to say that. _Why is she being so harsh?_ She gave me a look, as if daring me to say something back, but I didn't give her the satisfaction of getting angry; instead, I smiled brightly, hoping that my eyes were twinkling the same way Dumbledore's did when he knew someone was getting irritated with him.

"Mind your manners, Pattie," the elder Dubois said disapprovingly, causing me to hide a laugh in my hand. "Pardon my daughter, Harry, but while she can easily see the bigger picture, her attention to detail is... well, let's just say she sees the person in front of us, not the _potential. _I have great faith in your abilities, as do most of England and Scotland, and I'm sure your help will lead us through this... _admittedly_ hard time in France's history."

I figured he cared more about his own continuing legacy rather than France's history, but, for now at least, the two were knotted together tightly. "Sir, I certainly want to help as best I can, but I need to know more about what I should expect when I get to Saint Pierre-whatsit..."

"Saint-Pierre-d'Entremont. Why don't you try _listening _every once and a while-"

"That's enough, Patricia." She shut her yap, noting the annoyance in her father's voice. "What you can expect, Harry, are about ten very over-worked and annoyed aurors who have been outclassed by the dark wizards they are attempting to apprehend. I do not exaggerate when I say that they will not listen to the average man or woman - in fact, I've had trouble getting them to listen to nearly every official, with the exception of myself and the head of the auror corps - but I'm certain you can win their, ah... _affections _in due time_._" He sounded less than confident, but I wasn't worried about the French aurors; if anything, I needed to worry about Patricia, who was bound to make everything difficult one way or another.

"It is for this reason that I'm assigning Patricia to the case. Two or three of the aurors you'll be working with know her on sight, as they attended Beauxbatons at the same time and she is a recognizable figure due to my own notoriety. She also speaks flawless French and English, thus she can communicate more easily with our aurors than you can. Whether or not the two of you can communicate without fighting or fussing is totally up to you two..."

Patricia had the good grace to look abashed at this statement, while I merely smiled softly. He was right, I knew, but it wasn't my fault Patricia had to act like a spoiled brat to provoke me. I'd merely have to keep my emotions in check, and pray Patricia didn't pinch my arse anymore.

"Furthermore, I'm confident my own daughter will not lie to me, and neither will she keep certain facts to herself to protect the other aurors. I am wary of sending her to fight giants - as you might expect, considering she is my _only _daughter - but as she is well-placed in the British Ministry and, from what she's told me, very familiar with you, she is the most likely candidate to act as a translater. No one else amongst our auror departments can speak French and English reliably enough to make this mission work."

Patricia said something in French to her father that made him chuckle, though neither felt inclined to translate for me. "I'm sorry, Harry," the Minister said, passing me a menu. "I forgot to ask you what you'd like to eat. When you're ready, just tap your wand on the table and a waiter will be with you shortly."

He allowed me a minute or so to look over the menu, and I found that very little of what was available in the predominantly-French restaurant seemed appetizing; my eyes kept inadvertently finding a meal that listed clams, muscles and scallops as ingredients, though I wasn't a seafood person. "I suggest trying the roasted lamb," the Minister offered, showing me his own plate, on which a skewered piece of half-chewed meat was sitting. "It is very tender, and seasoned to perfection." I was reminded of the sheep in the photo, and my stomach burbled queasily in response.

However, after another few moments of looking through the menu, I sighed and placed it carefully on the table before tapping my wand on the edge. Almost immediately, a waiter popped up over my left shoulder, and I realized that he must have Apparated to our table. Rather impressed, having never been served by a waiter that teleported to the table, I must have looked a bit foolish staring up at the tall, skinny man.

"Good afternoon, sir. Welcome to _Le Drapeau Blanc_! How may I help you today?"

"I'd like the roasted lamb, as well as a nice red wine - whatever best suits the lamb." He had opened his mouth to ask what kind, but I smoothly intercepted him. Patricia smirked from behind a dainty bite of potato, and I sent her a glare when her father was preoccupied with his lamb.

"Excellent choice!" Dubois exclaimed, smiling. The waiter nodded once, and disappeared again. Within moments the waiter had returned with another man in tow; the tall man who had taken my order held an unrecognizable bottle of wine, and the other was carrying a silver platter that I assumed held my dinner. "I swear they get faster every time!" The Minister laughed, shooting the waiter an impressed look. The waiter, for his part, merely smiled and poured the wine with a flourish.

As he filled my glass nearly to the brim, he spoke briefly about the wine he had chosen, but I couldn't remember for the life of me what the name of it was; pressed for a judgement by the waiter and the Minister, I took a sip that, unfortunately, dribbled down my chin and onto my clothes. "It's very... _dry_, I suppose..." I dead-panned, as Patricia giggled into her napkin. By the time the offended waiter left, I knew I ended up looking rather foolish.

Dubois either didn't notice my flub, or decided not to comment on it; in any case, he very quickly pushed his plate aside and I could tell he was ready to discuss something of importance. "Now, Harry... while I must insist you take my daughter along, I also wish to convey how important it is that she is protected at all times. That means, during your stay in the mountains, I want you," he pointed at Patricia, "as close to Mr. Potter as possible. I trust that he is more capable than the others to defend you, and at any rate, you should stay out of the action as much as you can anyway. Your defensive skills are good, but not quite up to the auror standard - no offense, my dear."

"None taken," she said, her teeth clenched noticeably.

"Good! Do you have anything to add, Harry?" the Minister asked, sounding hopeful.

"No, sir," I said truthfully, causing his face to relax; I could tell he was disappointed that I hadn't pushed for Patricia's cooperation, but I would speak to her privately at the first available opportunity, so it was pointless. I turned my attention back to the lamb, which was slightly undercooked in my opinion, but still tasted phenomenal.

"And what about you, Patricia? Did you have anything you'd like to discuss?"

"I do, actually," she said, looking intensely at me, "but I'd prefer a few minutes to speak to Harry alone." She turned to her father, who looked surprised by her statement. She pleaded with him, her grey eyes seemingly larger than before. "Please, Daddy?"

The leader of France waffled, looking back and forth from his daughter to me. I just smiled pleasantly, actually enjoying the confused, questioning look on the Minister's face, as well as the inexorable hold that Patricia had over her father. Dubois said something under his breath that I didn't catch before he coughed slightly. "Ah, excuse me a moment; I need to run to the... restroom." He slowly got up from his chair and fled to the loo, greeting more than a few people in the restaurant on his way. Patricia waited until he was out of earshot before speaking to me in a tone better befitting a banshee.

"When we get to the Chatreuse - that is, after I've led you where you're supposed to be - you are to set up a tent that I, _alone_, will be sleeping in." She said that as if it was supposed to bother me; obviously, she didn't realize I had no intentions of sleeping anywhere near her. "On top of that, when you are fighting the giants, I will be as far away from the action as possible; I'm not getting my head smushed by a giant _you _couldn't defend against."

I was tempted to roll my eyes, but somehow I stopped myself. "Why are you so _bloody _heated at me, Patricia?" I asked, cutting to the point. "I'm sorry your father got you involved in this, but I don't understand why you are so damned angry at _me_!"

"Maybe it's because you've suddenly turned into the biggest berk I've ever met - and that's saying something! You _begged _me not to go last night, you wouldn't speak to me this morning, and now you're acting like you'd rather be with anyone else in the world on this mission!"

"Well, it's not like you've been excited to go so far! All I've heard you do is complain about how _shitty _I've been!"

"You _have been_ _shitty, _Harry! do you have any _sense _whatsoever?" She said these words without a hint of heat in them; instead, she sounded like she couldn't believe I was this dumb. "We argued in plain view of everyone earlier, and word got back to my father. What was I supposed to say? 'Oh, Daddy, Harry and I fucked last night since his _fiancee _was out of town, and now he's having second thoughts!' After Beauxbatons, I bet he'd just _love _to hear that his daughter just slept with a man that's about to be married in less than two months!"

I opened my mouth to say something, but she spoke before I had a chance. "I told him that you didn't want to take me with you because you thought I would get hurt - as you said, _I'm unexperienced_ - and you didn't want help from a _girl _who was _helpless_. Very convincing, don't you think, especially since that is probably _exactly _how you feel!"

She was right to a certain extent, but I was starting to feel dreadful nonetheless; I had to ask myself if I was really treating her this way because she was a girl, or if it had more to do with the fact she was an extremely attractive girl. "I do feel like you're unexperienced, Patricia - that's obvious - but I don't think you're helpless; in fact, I thought you were going to _help us_ fight!" She frowned, which only made me angrier for some reason. "But it's _fine_... you can stay in your warm, cosy little tent - expanded to fit all of your clothes, I'm sure - while the _real _aurors take control of the situation-"

"Take control?" She laughed in my face, her expression turning sadistic in a matter of moments. "You prefer being on the bottom, staring at your wife's _fucking _pillow while _I _take control!"

Apparently, I hadn't completely hidden the guilt-stricken faces I was making (in between pleasure-filled moans, I'm sure) the previous night. Embarrassed, I put my face in my hands for a moment before running my fingers through my hair. "Excuse me for feeling a little guilty, okay? I don't regret what we did - not one bit - but _damn_, Patricia! This isn't any easier for me than it is for you!"

"You have no idea how hard this is for _me_! Do you think I normally sleep with guys on our first date? It only makes it worse I gave you _everything_ and now you don't want anything to do with me..."

She trailed off, on the verge of sobbing, and again, for the hundredth time in the last twenty four hours, I felt guilty over my actions. "I'm sorry about the way I treated you today, and yesterday, and everyday up until yesterday evening," I said, "and I'm sorry we both have to go to _fucking _Saint-Pierre-d'Entremont - pardon my French," to which she cracked a watery smile, "but it is out of my - _out of both of our _- hands. What happened, has already happened, and we need to work together to get anything accomplished while we're on this mission."

"_Que sera, sera_," she said, smiling a little more happily as I snickered. "You're right, Harry. Let's... just try to get along."

"Patricia," I said, before pausing, not really sure what to say. She was so lovely in her expensive dress, with her blonde hair falling in waves over her shoulders, and her makeup expertly applied; for all of the stick she got for putting thought into her looks before work, she still continued dressing well, and today she was looking absolutely irresistable. "Can I be honest with you?" When she nodded, I said very quickly, and softly, "I like when you're-"

The moment was broken as her father appeared; in my surprise I squeaked rather more like a rat than a human, while Patricia very quickly placed both hands on the table. Facing us both with confused looks, the Minister said, "Did you discuss everything you needed to?"

We both nodded fervently, and I noticed Patricia was blushing bright red; I imagined that my own face was just as bad, if not worse. Even her father looked ridiculously uncomfortable, though he smiled easily enough to mask it. Hopefully he just assumed that we had argued, finally getting it all out of our systems.

As lunch wound down and small talk was made, Patricia caught my eye. Thankfully, she had let up on her annoyed, bordering-on-murderous expression in favor of a friendly, albiet romantically-inclined smile. I grinned as well, glad that at least this part of my day had gone off without a hitch.

Now all I had to do was keep Patricia happy, tell my chosen colleagues they were going across the channel with me (without pissing them off) and make it out of the office in time to go home and convince Ginny that Patricia's role in all of this didn't matter - not that I was all that convinced myself.

I couldn't help thinking, as I shook the Minister's hand, preparing to Disapparate from the restaurant, that the day was going to get worse before it got better. When Patricia briefly pinched my arse again under the guise of shaking my hand, I decided I couldn't be sure if my days would ever get better.

* * *

_-end of Chapter Three-_


	4. A Burly, Irked Burke

**Chapter Four: A Burly, Irked Burke**

The big, meaty fist of Lawrence Burke smashed into my desk, the sound reverberating against the cubicle walls before reaching open space. His voice, angry and emotional, snapped in the silent office like a whip crack, and even though I knew the man wouldn't lay a finger on my head (as I would _destroy _him), I inched my way backward, leaning away from him.

"What the _fuck_, Potter!" he said, for the fourth time since our conversation began a few minutes ago. I had calmly requested his presence in my office, and he had smilingly accompanied me back to my desk, seating himself and enjoying a jelly doughnut while making small talk. Once I began explaining his role in my operation, as well as who his companions would be, his patient, friendly tone went out the window, and the half-eaten doughnut was smushed across my desk. "I've been busting my ass for you for six months, and this is how you repay it? Sending me to _fucking _France to clean up giant shit?" He eyed me with a look bordering on fury. "I thought we were friends, man!"

I shook my head. Burke was a decent chap, but to me, Lawrence was more like an acquaintance, as I was a few years older than him and didn't hang around the younger aurors all that much. They preferred talking about hunting, and fishing, and their manly accomplishments in the bedroom, whereas I liked to talk about Ginny's new hairstyle or my upcoming wedding - not exactly the topic of interest with the guys. "This isn't about friendship, how much effort you've been putting in, or anything like... _that._" I tried to remain calm, hoping that if I gave the man time to vent he would see the error of his ways. "According to your file, you were raised in the upper part of Scotland." I briefly glanced at his file, still open on my desk, dripping with a bit of jelly. "The Orkney Islands." This was not a question, but he answer me all the same.

"Yes," he said through his teeth. "That is... _accurate_." It seemed like it was very difficult for him to admit. "I don't see what that has to do with anything."

I considered the man a moment. He was six-foot three, nearly a head taller than I was, and quite a bit heavier than me. Still, I had seen the man dance circles around the other aurors in his class a few years ago, and his speed belied his brute strength; despite his size, I knew he was as quick with the draw as anyone in the department, and nearly as powerful. His grey eyes were still narrowed, and I could sense that if I waited any longer, he might _conveniently _forget I was his superior.

"_The Loch of Swannay_ ring a bell?" His forehead crinkled noticeably, but it was obvious despite his confusion that he knew the area. "Besides myself, you are the only wizard on the force with an inkling of how fiercesome giants are in close combat." I paused, as his face fell slightly. "I realize that you were attacked near the lake by a giant who was in a frenzy, lusting for blood, and you protected your," I glanced at the file, "_cousin_ from it's wrath."

Burke stared blankly across the desk; judging by the sudden silence, I knew he was remembering the events that led up to his use of protective magic against the giant. In truth, he had barricaded himself and his younger cousin in a cave before using the _Kattaraks _shield to protect the third-year Hogwarts student until the giant ran off, tired of pounding against the blue wall of magic. This was right before he started with the aurors, and his use of the same spell during an exam had been the main reason I was so interested in the trainee.

"I remember, sir," he said, with a look of someone who had finally accepted his fate. "We were fortunate the giant left us alone before my strength faded."

"And yet, you held your own against the giant for twenty minutes without dropping the spell once. I'm certain we won't need more time than that, just as I'm certain you are more capable now than you were then. In short, Lurch (one of the shorter Muggleborn aurors had taken to calling him that over a year ago), you are my last line of defense against these giants. The weather in Scotland during winter is not dissimilar to what we will face in the Chartreuse."

"Look... Lawrence," I said, trying a more man to man approach. "I think you're one of the best. There are only a handful of people I'd select to watch my back on a mission, and though we've never worked together before, I am counting on you." He finally turned his attention back to me, and I could tell he had let his anger die down. "Can we trust you? Can _I _trust you?"

Apparently, my words had instilled some type of manly resolve in the younger man, as he stood up and used his wand to _Scourgify _the desk. I smiled, noting that the sticky jelly had been removed from the folder as well. "You can trust me, sir. I'm sorry, I..."

If he was regretting any of his anger, he didn't finish telling me, as Shacklebolt chose that moment to look over the edge of the cubicle. "I hope I am not interrupting, Auror Potter, Auror Burke." I shook my head, glancing at Burke out of the corner of my eye. The man, who was just as tall as Shacklebolt if not as commanding, had full-on saluted the Minister. "I need a word with you, Harry." His use of my first name meant he probably had something else _fucked up _to tell me. Inwardly, I seethed, my quite rational anger bubbling up to surface.

"We were just finishing up." I turned to Burke, who was busy hiding the rest of the mangled jelly doughnut from Shacklebolt's view. "Auror Burke, please meet me in Auror Hopkirk's office at _precisely _seven-thirty tomorrow morning."

Burke saluted me as well, an action that nearly caused me to chortle in response. "Yes, _sir_!"

When he was gone, Shacklebolt took the liberty of sitting in the vacated chair. A warning flared in my mind, as I remembered that Ron had conjured that same seat earlier in the morning, and he wasn't exactly on par with the world's Transfiguration experts. In a moment of mischeif, I decided not to mention it.

"What can I _help _you with, Minister?" This was said with long-standing frustration, as I meant to show Shacklebolt I was tremendously busy.

Fortunately, he wasted no time. "Have you spoken to everyone involved with the mission?" At my brief nod, he frowned heavily. "Should I take your silence to mean that everyone is in agreement?" I shook myself out of my bad mood as best I could under the circumstances, and forced a grin for Shacklebolt's benefit.

"Yes, sir. Burke was... _initially_ opposed to going, but I straightened him out. The others took the news considerably better, though I have to say none of them are pleased about their orders." I decided not to add in the fact I was pissed I had to go as well.

"Very good. I knew you wouldn't waste any time." He sighed. "Now... I do have some rather uncomfortable news for you, but before I begin, I want to ask you something, and I expect you to give me the _truth_." He said this as if he knew my first reaction would be to lie. As I was typically truthful when it came to auror business, I knew this had to be in relation to Patricia.

"Of course, sir."

"One of the most important people on this planet has placed you in a position of responsibility, not only to oversee this objective, but also, to protect his only daughter." His stare was penetrating, and I averted my glance as his eyes narrowed. "I also recognize that she is young, tempermental, unexperienced in the field, and rather fetching to boot."

"And what is your point, Kingsley?"

He shifted uneasily in his seat. "I realize that you're to get married in a few weeks, but I..." he trailed off. "I need you to reassure me that you are fully capable of adhering to our strict policies regarding male and female, ah... _relations _during missions, and-"

"For Merlin's sake, Kingsley! I'm not some sex-addicted female _aficionado_, I'm a _bloody _AUROR_, _not to mention the fact I'm _engaged-"_

"Potter!" shouted the Minister, who was completely flummoxed by my intensely defensive behavior. I gawked for a moment before my face fell, and I could literally feel my cheeks draining of all color. "Watch who the hell you're talking to!"

I screwed up my face, hopefully looking apologetic. "I'm sorry, Minister. I just don't take kindly to anyone questioning my relationship with Ginny. I've always been faithful to her, sir, and you can trust me to remain that way for the duration of the mission."

Though I tripped slightly over the word 'faithful' I made enough of an effort to sound truthful that Kingsley nodded tightly. "I do trust you, Harry," he said, rubbing his eyes and, for once, looking like a tired old man. Suddenly, I remembered how much Shack had done for the country since his inaugaration, and how much he still had left to do. It was enough to make a man feel entirely inadequate. "It's just that I don't trust _Patricia_, Harry." This surprised me enough that I forgot all about my panicked dismissal of Kingsley's concerns. "I can sense that she is devious, just like herfather no doubt, and the only thing I can reliably expect out of her is a problem." I had no idea Shacklebolt didn't like Dubois, but in a way, it made sense.

_Politics._

"I guess what I'm trying to say, Potter, is keep a close eye on your enemies, but an even closer eye on your allies. The French aren't inherently evil like these dark wizards are, but they are just as liable to fuck you over should they have the opportunity. You should be fine with the aurors you've selected - and I have no doubt that Zeller will back you every step of the way - but Patricia isn't reporting to me _at all_." This was newsto me, as I had never considered Patricia would be anything less than obedient. "While her father paints this picture of her being under your supervision, she has... _resigned _from her clerk position, and after this week, she will no longer receive a pay check from our Ministry."

_What the hell?_ I thought nervously. _What is Dubois up to?_

"Sir," I began, "how do you expect-"

"I don't expect you to do _anything_, Potter, other than keep an eye on her. If anything seems suspicious, use your mirror to get up in touch with Hopkirk. If anything seems _out of order, _you tell us." It was obvious that he expected no resistance, and I didn't give him any reason to assume I would resist. In fact, I was even more determined to find out what Patricia had up her sleeve, and if it was negative, I would stop it myself.

Suddenly, Shacklebolt leaned in closer to me. It was obvious he did not want to be overheard. "I'm sure you heard Dubois mention Beauxbatons." I nodded, as I definitely recalled him making a comment about it. "Do you know what Patricia did when she was in school?"

I had assumed it had something to do with the other young men at the school's amorous behavior, but now, asked directly about it, I realized that I wasn't so sure. "No, sir," I answered truthfully.

Not for the first time, Shacklebolt looked fatigued. "As you might imagine, the daughter of the Minister of Magic is going to garner a lot of attention, even at a young age. By eleven years old, she was easily the most popular witch in her class - perhaps you can relate to that - but rather than shun that attention as you did, she _craved _more. Of course, she had no idea how she could accomplish that goal, but a chance encounter with one of your friends changed all of that."

_One of my friends? I don't know anyone from Beauxbatons..._

"Delacour," I muttered, before what I said had registered in my mind. "She met Fleur?"

Shacklebolt chuckled, but it was humorless. "That is correct, Mr. Potter. Five points to Gryffindor." It was a testament to the importance of this new information that my jaw dropped. "Fleur Delacour - as you know, a quarter veela - was a seventh year student when Patricia first started, and even though Fleur did her best to cut off her allure completely, there were some situations that were uncontrollable." He sighed. "Fleur's coming of age made it very hard for her to stop it at times. I'm sure you remember the Triwizard Tournament, and how most of the male population at Hogwarts followed her every move..." As he trailed off, I nodded, seeing the truth in what he was saying.

"Yes, sir."

I had a sinking feeling that Shacklebolt was about to tell me something I didn't want to hear. "Of course, this meant that everyone in the school, even those left at home, knew she was part veela. Patricia picked up on how useful such a thing could be, and made plans to harness a... _similar power_." Obviously, that declaration meant that not only had she accomplished her plans, she had most likely used it on me the night before. I wondered: was a spell effecting my behavior? Did Patricia's magic mean that I hadn't cheated on Ginny, I had merely been duped into a false attraction? These questions and more ran through my mind as Shacklebolt started speaking again.

"She didn't master it until her seventh year, but one particular boy became so smitten with her, he ended up assaulting her in front of a professor. The boy ended up on trial, where he explained that he had no memory of the events, though _for some reason_, he felt like Patricia was responsible."

If that was true, then why did I remember everything clearly from the night before? I was sure she had not tampered with my memories of the event, as my Occlumency wouldn't allow it without a tremendous effort from a powerful witch or wizard - of which Patricia was neither - and I had not seen her use her wand at any point during the evening.

"Since then," Shacklebolt continued, "Patricia and her father have both publicly denied this, and stimied any effort against the students or the French media to bring the complaints to the public attention. There were no lingering effects ofOblivation or the Imperius curse on the boy, but you can find the evidence if you know where to look." Shacklebolt snickered to himself. "Or if you're the Minister of Magic."

My inner turmoil must have shown on my face as the Minister paused, asking me what was wrong. "Sorry, sir, it's... just a lot to take in at once." That was an understatement, as I felt like my brain was exploding with a thousand evil plots against me - Patricia wanted my fame, or my money, or her father had a grudge against the Weasleys - and each one was as ridiculous as the next. _Why is this happening?_

He nodded knowingly. "I can imagine. What I'm trying to tell you, Potter, is that you'll be working with a witch who will probably try to ensnare you in a trap, and as everything is signed and dated," which was unmistakably true, as I had just signed the magical contract that morning before lunch, "you'll have to at least _try _to finish the operation in its entirety before you can come back to England."

I desperately wished that Shacklebolt had brought this to my attention earlier, as I rather doubted it had just slipped his mind. On top of that, I wished I had never signed the stupid contract to begin with.

"Why didn't you tell me this, Kingsley?" I asked angrily. "It seems like something that would have been _advantageous_ to know this morning!" Shacklebolt again shifted in his seat, this time looking remorseful.

"I'm sorry, Harry, but I didn't know any of this until... well, Henri Dubois told me something about it right before the two of you met for lunch!" I sighed again, a migraine piercing me right between the eyes. "Of course, he didn't _say _that Patricia was responsible for any of it, but he explained she was going to leave her position, as he put it, 'because she is afraid of being in the public eye when the story breaks'." Shacklebolt scoffed loudly. "More likely she doesn't want to be mentioned when the proverbial shit hits the fan. I'm telling you now because I... _ahem_, Weasley's just spent a half hour talking to the Groundskeeper at Beauxbatons, and he's _certain _he saw Patricia use magic on that very boy a week before he attacked her."

To make matters worse, Percy knew all about the mission, as well as Patricia's part in everything. That did not bode well for keeping objective details away from my wife-to-be. Still, I suspected Percy wouldn't divulge anything - it would compromise his position with the Minister, and there was _no way in hell _poncy Percy would squeal.

Finished wrecking my day, Shacklebolt stood and made his farewell. "Be careful, Potter. I still plan to offer you the Head Auror position when you get back, so you better damn well stay in one piece. Just... keep an eye on that girl, and for Merlin's sake, don't let her get close to you." He eyed me with the most serious look he could summon. "Alright, Potter?"

I didn't say anything, but then again, I didn't really need to; Shacklebolt nodded sharply and left the cubicle. As soon as he turned the corner, the seat he had been sitting in disappeared.

I sighed, massaging my temples with the tips of my fingers. "Merlin, this is a long day..." Fortunately, it was just about time to leave for the evening. I rested my eyes, trying to relieve my headache in the privacy provided by the cubicle.

I don't know how long I sat there, head in my hands, pretending that the outside world didn't exist, but it couldn't have been more than five minutes. Lost in my own thoughts, I had no way to prepare for a revenge strike from behind.

I clattered to the ground alongside my chair, which had been unceremoniously pulled out from under me. I scrambled across the floor, arse aching from the fall, and jumped to my feet, ready to curse the dim-witted asshole who dared to cross me-

It was Ron. "_Got you back!_" he announced, thrilled he had finally be able to get the jump on me. It was rare that Ron could surprise me, but after a day like today, it was the last bloody thing I needed.

"You..." I growled, before whipping my wand at the chair menacingly. Ron took a step back, concerned for his health, and stumbled on the carpet. The chair merely flipped over, landing upright. I was tempted to laugh in Ron's face - he looked like he was strongly considering bolting when I pulled out my wand - but I was still too annoyed to give in to good humor. "I'm having the worst day of my life, and now my ass is broken," I deadpanned. "Thank you."

He laughed heartily, though he tentatively stepped back in the cubicle. "It's no trouble at all." I just gave him a look. "Besides, this can't be the worst day of your life."

I put a hand over my eyes, before peering at him through my fingers. "And why the hell not?"

He scoffed, looking at me like I was crazy. "Remember Voldemort? The Dursleys?_ Shit_... even Umbridge made life hell for you on a daily basis. This doesn't even compare." He was so sure of this that I was confident he had forgotten about Patricia - at least for the time being. "Besides," he said, slapping me on the shoulder, "we're all celebrating your promotion tonight!"

As what he said dawned on me, I decided banging my head against the desk was the best way to express my distress. "Oh hell," I said, rubbing my forehead while Ron laughed, "that's the last damn thing I need tonight. Three weeping Weasleys congratulating me for a promotion I'll probably never get." I was speaking of Molly, Ginny and Hermione, though I knew most of the rest of the family would be around.

"What do you mean?" Ron asked, looking confused. "Hermione told me you told her and Ginny about it earlier. She said you were moving up to Head Auror when the mission's over, and that you wanted to celebrate tonight." I kicked the chair under the table, getting frustrated - mostly because I knew he was right. "Did you really think Mum wouldn't catch wind of it? Now, she can't stop talking about 'how nice it will be to have everyone together for a change." He mimed his mother's overly-enthusiastic, high-pitched molly-coddling voice perfectly, before giving me a mischevious grin. "You couldn't _possibly _turn her down!"

"You're right," I moaned. "It's just that... Ron, this mission is going to _kill _me, and if I do somehow live through it, I'll be back in the paper every _damn day_!" I mimed Rita Skeeter's vapid smile with marginal success. "Óh, Harry, _daarrrling_, how does it feel to be such a powerful figure in a declining Ministry with scarcely funded, under-educated aurors? How does it feel to murder giants with impunity, _Head Mercenary_ Potter?"

Ron chuckled. "Whatever, Harry. I know you don't like the attention, but think of all the good you could do in that position! I bet you could even arrest Skeeter as an unlicensed animagus!"

"Nah, she registered, remember? Besides, I'm not as worried about her as I am this mission. Shacklebolt dropped one hell of a bombshell on me today."

His smile fell off his face the way grease does during a hot dog eating contest. The metaphor was made more poignant by the fact Ron could probably win one. "What do you mean, Harry? It seemed pretty cut and dry earlier. Beat up the giants, beat up the wizards, and be back in time to marry Ginny."

"Ron," I started, before faltering. How was I supposed to explain this to my best friend without sounding like I had done something wrong? "Can you keep a secret?"

"That depends," he said, scratching his chin. "Who do I have to keep secrets from?"

"_Everyone_. Even Hermione."

"Hmmm," he said, taking a few moments to get his thoughts in order. "In that case, you probably shouldn't tell me."

I stared blankly at my testacle-free friend. "Right," I nodded, remembering Hermione found out about everything I ever told Ron, and then she eventually told Ginny. "Nevermind."

"Anyway, I'm sure the mission will go off without a hitch. You haven't botched one up yet." Ron's attempt at convincing me was cut off when he looked at his watch. "Well, what do you know... it's past time to go home. You ready?"

I sighed. I wasn't ready, but I didn't have any reason to stay in the office any longer either. Everyone had been contacted, all of the documents had been signed, Shacklebolt, as well as Patricia and her father, had long ago vacated the premises, and I would be leaving England the next morning at eight. It was nauseating to think that I would probably be walking into a trap tomorrow, but I took some small solace in the fact that at least I was aware of the trap to begin with.

"Yeah," I sighed. "Let's get this over with."

Ron Disapparated, and his excited smile hung in the air for a moment after he left, making me feel like a total twat for being melancholy. It just wouldn't do to look upset when I went around Ron and Ginny's Mum, as Molly would take it to heart, especially considering it was a party in my honor. After Fred's death, everyone had certainly had their fill of Molly's tears.

"To the Burrow..." I whispered miserably, spinning on the spot and following Ron.

* * *

"Harry!" was the shouted greeting I received when I opened the Weasley's back door. Someone added, "Congratulations!"

I could see Mrs. Weasley was busy at the stove, though she still spared the time to walk over, giving me a peck on the cheek and a warm, back-breaking hug before going back to what she was doing. I nearly tripped over the pile of presents at the edge of the table, and wondered idly if I had forgotten someone's birthday before realizing that the gifts were meant for me. I removed my robes and hung them on the chair I usually occupied at dinner.

Looking up, I saw that George was listening to the Wizarding Wireless intently, as, since he had lost his ear, he had quite a bit of trouble hearing properly. His greeting was the loudest, as he couldn't hear it very well himself. "Why, if it isn't the Head Auror!" He nudged the woman next to him. "He's a strapping young lad, isn't he?"

"Quite," was Angelina's belated reply. She held Fred II against her dark skin, and he gurgled happily as his mother began to bounce him. George had been adamant about naming his first son Fred, and despite the fact that it was _his_ son and not his late brothers, he had made sure the birth certificate said 'Fred Weasley II'. Angelina was in love with George, but she had dated Fred briefly in school, and easily gave her consent for the proposed name, as she missed Fred almost as much as George. "How are ya, Harry?" she asked, though she was looking down at the baby.

"I'm good," I lied, before trying a little harder to be happy. "How's little Fred?" I moved in closer, rubbing the bald, olive-skinned baby's cheek with my index finger. "You're a cute little bugger, aren't you?"

"Like his father," George said proudly. At Angelina's frown he exclaimed, "and especially like his mother!" which caused her to roll her eyes.

"Suck up," she muttered, before addressing me again. "You wouldn't think he's cute when it's time to change the nappy! George can work with those awful smelling potions all day, but he turns into a quivering mess in the face of baby poo..."

We both shared a laugh at George's expense, as his expression slowly turned into one of mock outrage. "Well, I tried putting U-No-Poo in his applesauce, but Angelina checks everything he has before he eats it."

"With good reason!" she exclaimed, raising her eyebrows. This time the three of us laughed, the conversation digressing into the couple idly insulting each other's relative caretaking prowess. When they mentioned something regarding the bedroom, I decided to go ahead and leave the kitchen for the sake of my sanity.

"Good evening, son!" Mr. Weasley greeted me with a diplomatic smile and a strong handshake. "How's the office?"

I had lightly considered Arthur a father figure years ago, but as he was soon to be my father-in-law, I regularly sought his advice, especially concerning affairs within the Ministry. He still worked with Muggle Artifacts, but now he was a consultant with the Unspeakables, and went out in the field to solve some of the world's weirdest Muggle mysteries. "Honestly, sir, today has been one of the worst days in recent memory, and I'm just glad to be here rather than there."

He nodded, his smile growing. "Oh, yes, I had quite a few of those days in my time. Molly never understood how harrowing an experience using a man-eating toilet could be when one has a bowel movement..." His eyes grew distant, before he shivered. "I still have the scars to prove it."

I briefly considered rolling my eyes, but thought better of it. I chuckled. "I can only imagine..."

Ginny chose that moment to waltz downstairs, and I had to admit, she looked radiant. Her freckles had been toned down a bit under carefully applied makeup, and her collarbone was exposed, drawing my attention to her long, pale neck. I stood to greet her, wrapping my arms around my fiancee and pressing my lips against hers. "I missed you," I whispered. "I'm sorry about earlier, babe..."

I _was_ tremendously sorry, and she must have sensed that, because she smiled. For the moment, all was forgiven. "It's okay, Harry. I missed you too." She looked up, glancing at George and Angelina's faux-argument. "That's not real, is it?"

"Nah," I said, snickering. "They're arguing about baby poop."

"Figures," she said, laughing softly. I caught her lips with a quick kiss, drawing a wolf whistle from Bill, who had followed her down the stairs. "Oh, be _quiet_," Ginny hissed, sticking her tongue out at her oldest brother.

"Hey! Fleur and I used to get stick from all of you guys before we tied the knot, so you ought to expect a little _ribbing_ here and there." He poked her in the abdomen, causing her to giggle and swat his hand away. He one-armed hugged me around the shoulders, smashing me against his broad chest and making me thoroughly uncomfortable - partly for hugging another man, and partly because he was crushing my sternum. "Harry, congratulations on the promotion! You must feel like the luckiest man in the world... marrying my _sweetest_ sister and becoming the main man at the Ministry in the same month!"

"I'm your only sister," Ginny said with a long-suffering air; she had tolerated such comments from her brothers her entire life.

"Thank you, Bill. I really appreciate it," I said truthfully, shaking his hand. I winced as the much stronger man exerted extra pressure on my palm.

"You better be faithful to my sister, Potter," he whispered, suddenly serious. "Otherwise, the Potter line will die with you. _Capiche?_" He didn't seem to be joking, so I nodded, my face solemn.

"I wouldn't dream of hurting Ginny, Bill," I said, ignoring the voice screaming 'Liar!' in the back of my mind. Louder, I said, "I love her with all of my heart."

Ginny's teeth gleamed in the light coming from the fireplace. "Oh, _honey_," she said, leaning in close to me and wrapping an arm around my waist. A gentle squeeze later, I found myself again locking lips with the youngest Weasley. "I love you too."

She broke off the kiss about the time Ron came lumbering down the stairs, carrying a particularly large present that looked like it had been wrapped in a windstorm. "_Bloody _wrapping paper," he said to himself, blowing the loose paper out of his mouth. A little louder he said, "Can I get a little help here?"

"Use your wand, _Won Won_," Ginny said. Ron sneered at the use of his (and Hermione's) most hated nickname. Of course, his obvious annoyance with it was the sole reason Ginny used it so often.

"Whatever. Jus' get out the way if you're not gonna help." He stomped down the stairs, evading Ginny's foot as she tried to trip him. Bill snickered to himself, as he always found it funny when his youngest brother was aggravated. "I saw that, Ginny!" Ron fumed.

He entered the kitchen, presumably to put the package with the others, and Ginny started laughing. "He's too easy," she said, smiling.

"He gives as good as he gets," I said, using the cover provided by the couch to rub my arse regretfully. It was sore where I fell on it earlier. "So, I'd watch out if I were you."

She looked at me quizzically, but before she could ask what was I talking about, Hermione came downstairs. "Hello, Harry! Ron just finished wrapping your present - he insisted, despite the fact I'm _a hundred times _better - but I still have no idea what it was."

"Should I expect something with fangs or a Chudley Cannon's poster?"

"Probably a Chudley poster with fangs, actually," George said, having heard only the end of the conversation. "The best of both worlds, you see."

"Oh, lay off my husband," Hermione said. "At least he got you something." She looked pointedly at George. "What did _you _get Harry?"

For his part, George was only momentarily at a loss. "He's the one getting the promotion. He should be buying all of us something!"

"Oh, hush," Angelina said, before placing an envelope quietly in my pocket. "Don't open this until later, okay?" I nodded, uncomfortably aware of how her hand felt in my waist pocket. I put my arm around Ginny to get rid of the feeling.

"Sure," I said, and my shaky voice was lost amongst the din. A glance down revealed a note inside the envelope, and I assumed it was a Gringotts slip; George had been covertly trying to pay me off for my contribution after the Triwizard Tournament, and even though I didn't want the money, I knew George's business was booming - the fireworks' price had quite literally shot through the roof - and I couldn't rightly refuse a gift in front of everyone. Molly still had no idea I had given Fred and George the money, and I preferred to keep it that way.

"The food is ready!" Ron yelled from the kitchen. "Get your arses in here!"

"RONALD BILIUS WEASLEY! THAT IS NO WAY TO TALK TO GUESTS-"

Everyone erupted in laughter at Ron's expense as Mrs. Weasley laid into her youngest, and coincidentally, most vulgar son. "I've told you a _trillion _times not to curse in my house, young man, and just because you are grown, does not mean you've outgrown getting your mouth cleaned out with soap!"

Ron's apologies fell on deaf ears, but when everyone entered the kitchen, Mrs. Weasley turned away from him and went back to plating the food. "Here you are, Harry," she said, handing me the first plate, which had copious amounts of my favorite foods.

"Thank you, Mrs. Weasley. This looks amazing!"

Molly narrowed her eyes at Ron, who was trying and failing to get a plate of his own. "Why can't you be more like Harry, Ron? You would think after seventeen years in my home you would have learned some sense, and some manners, but _no! _You're just as hard-headed as ever!"

George clapped his brother on the shoulder before rapping him sharply on the head. "It runs in the family, eh, Ronnie?"

"Ger' off," he said, as Bill descended upon him with equal force. "That _bloody_ hurts!"

Mrs. Weasley slapped him on the arm. "Language! How many times-"

Arthur chose that moment to join us all in the kitchen. "Alright, everyone. Stop beating Ron up and settle down. We're here to celebrate Harry's promotion, not fight each other." He put an arm around his wife's shoulders, and turned her into his chest. While she was hugging him back, he flicked Ron with his other arm, causing Ginny, George and Bill to chortle loudly.

"What's so funny?" Molly said, and even Ron smiled a bit.

"Oh, nothing, dear... let's all have a seat, shall we?"

And sit we did, as Molly floated each plate (with the exception of mine, already resting on the table) across the room. They all landed perfectly on the placemats, and systematically, we all tucked in. The meat was tender, the vegetables roasted, and the conversation boisterous, so dinner went smoothly.

After ten or fifteen minutes, Ginny was the first person to broach the subject of my pending departure. She turned to me, skewering one of my carrots with her fork before plopping it into her pink mouth, chewing thoughfully. "So, what time do you leave tomorrow?"

I took a moment to swallow before replying. "Eight A.M. I have to be in to work by seven-thirty, but we're not taking the Portkey until then." She looked disheartened, but she nodded all the same.

"I'm going to miss you so much, Harry," she whispered. It was a testament to her broken voice that no one made a joke out of her statement. George even turned away, probably to stop himself from making a funny face during her emotional moment. "I wish you didn't have to go."

"I know, babe," I said, putting my arm over the back of her chair, resting it lightly across her shoulders. "At least when I get back it won't be long before the wedding, and we can take some time - A LOT of time - off."

We were scheduled to go to the Bahamas for our Honeymoon. Hermione had found a delightful wizard-only resort a few weeks back, and Ginny had immediately paid for it - with my money, not that I was complaining all that much. The Bahamas sounded heavenly next to the Chatreuse, and on a Head's salary, I could certainly afford it.

"That sounds _amazing_," Ginny said, placing her hand on the back of my neck and pulling me into a kiss. This time George did make a face, and it was reflected on Ron's as well.

"Why don't you guys get a room," he mumbled, mouth full of food.

"Why don't _you _keep your yap shut or we'll take _your _room!"

"Hey!"

Mrs. Weasley stopped her conversation with Angelina to look at us all disdainfully. "I will not have talk like that at the dinner table." She even glared at me slightly, causing me to shrink into my fiancee's embrace. "Now, if everyone is _quite _finished, Harry can open his presents."

"Oh, _oh_," Ginny said, jumping up from her seat, and rushing into the living room. "I almost forgot! Hold on!"

She was gone a mere thirty seconds before she crashed into the kitchen door, followed immediately by an oblong-shaped box she was obviously levitating behind her. "Uh, sorry," she said, giggling a bit. I glanced at the box, wondering what had her suddenly acting shy. "I... I know how much the last, ah... one of _these_ you had meant to you," she said, while grabbing both of my hands, "but I hope that you can grow to love this one as much as the last. Okay," she said, taking a deep breath. "Open it up!"

She leapt back from the box to get a better view and I could sense that everyone was especially interested in the present Ginny had given me. Rather than immediately open it, I gave her another kiss, wrapping my arms lovingly around her. More wolf whistles followed, this time from nearly all of the men present, before I moved tentatively toward the box.

I noticed there were punctures in the top and side of the paper, and assumed that a beastie of some sort was in the box. When it moved slightly, I knew I better go ahead and let whatever creature it was out. "I hope this isn't a Mackled Malaclaw or something," I said, glancing toward Ginny, who smiled encouragingly. As I unwrapped the present, I began to realize where I had seen the shape of the box before, and my heart started to flutter, my emotions coming to the surface.

A beautiful snowy owl blinked at me from behind its white-barred prison, and I couldn't help but sniffle like a little boy given his first gift - which, in fact, poor Hedwig had been the first worthwhile present I ever received. Ginny put an arm around me, and a brief glance at her showed that, even though she was pleased at my reaction, she was also a bit teary-eyed herself. "Hagrid helped me pick him out, you know. He said to pass on his love, as well as some rock cakes." She smiled. "Of course, I threw the rock cakes out. In any case, the man at Eeylops said his name is Monty, but I suppose since he's yours now, you can call him whatever you want."

Whereas Hedwig had bits of brown on her chest feathers, this owl was entirely white except for portions of his magnificent wings. He was also quite a bit larger than Hedwig, and the cage was bigger than hers as a result. As he looked at me, he seemed to be admiring my features as well. Yellow eyes gleamed with an innate understanding of wizards, and he pressed his talons against the face of the cage as if to shake my hand. A moment later I asked the owl, "Do _you _like the name Monty?"

The bird shifted his feet back and forth uneasily. I assumed that was a negative.

George spoke up. "Call him Hoots." The snowy owl cocked his head as if to say 'Oh, really?" After watching the owl a moment, George reconsidered. "Whitey?"

"That's a terrible name," Angelina said.

"You're just saying that because you're-"

George was silenced with a fierce look from Angelina. "How about Blanco?" George suggested, looking away from his wife with more than a bit of shame in his countenance. Unfortunately, the owl didn't appreciate the proposed praenomen. "Or not...' he trailed off, caught off-guard by the owl's abrupt dismissal.

I paused, trying to think of a good name for the gorgeous bird. If I was an owl, I wouldn't want an obvious name like 'Snow' and I wouldn't want something ridiculous like 'Hoots' either. I had named Hedwig after a female saint, but it didn't feel right naming this owl after a male saint - not that I knew any names off-hand anyway. I thought of the other owls I had known by name. Pidwidgeon was out. Errol, likewise. Inspiration struck when I thought of Hermes, Percy's owl, which had been named after the Greek messenger to the Gods. Thinking along similar lines might have been a cop out, but _damnit_, I was going to name my companion something cool, and certainly something I came up with!

"How about... Zeus?" I said tentatively. The bird didn't immediately react with derision, which I took as a good sign. "Zeus it is," I laughed, and everyone clapped in response. "Would you like to go out for a flight, Zeus?"

The bird nodded slightly, just like Hedwig had years ago, and I consented to let him out of the cage. He flew to my shoulder and pressed the top of his head against my left cheek, nudging me softly before flying the nearest window. Hermione stood to slide the window open, and the bird took off like a... big ass bird.

"Baby, that was an amazing gift," I said, turning to Ginny and putting an arm around her. No one said anything, as it truly had been a wonderful gift to give me, and they all recognized how much Hedwig meant to me. For her to put that much thought into a gift, I knew she really must love me, a fact that never ceased to amaze me, even though we had been together for years now. "I won't ever be able to give you a present that good."

"You're about to give me your heart forever, Harry. That's a pretty damned good present." Her smile was mesmerizing. "I wanted to get you something so we could communicate while you were in France, and I figured a snowy owl wouldn't be noticed in the mountains. This way we can at least we can talk while you're gone." I didn't think I'd be able to mail her often, but I didn't mention it, still a bit overwhelmed by the excellent gift.

In fact, I was so wrapped up in the moment, I had to be asked twice by Ron to open his present. "Oh, all right, Ron!" I said, exasperated. "Keep your pants on..."

_Don't get angry with him_, I heard a voice say. At first I thought it was Ginny, but she had turned to her father and was complaining about Ron breaking up the moment. Confused, I glanced at Ron, who wasn't moving his lips, to Hermione, who was talking to Angelina and George with her eyes on Ron's present. _He's just excited to give me to you. Not that I'm some prize to be won..._

The voice was hissing. I was eerily reminded of the Chamber of Secrets, and thought perhaps Ron had fucking lost his mind. "You got me a snake!"

"WHAT!"

Hermione had jumped up and had a severely pissed off look on her face, directed right at Ron. He winced, as he had apparently forgotten his wife hated snakes as much as he did spiders. She had good reason, as she had almost died from the basilisk's stare in our second year. Molly had already left the kitchen, having no reason to stick around for any type of snake, even one that could speak to me. Ginny's reaction was the worst, however, as she was almost in tears.

I remembered belatedly that she had reason to fear snakes as well.

Ron chuckled humorlessly. "That's not the reaction I expected..."

"_You overgrown ape!" _Ginny yelled, a Bat Bogey Hex on the tip of her tongue. When she released her magic, Ron ducked, and the hex hit the same window Zeus had flown out of, causing it to shatter in a million pieces. "How dare you give him a snake after all the trouble we've had with them!"

"It's alright, Ginny! Calm down, babe," I said quickly, trying to calm her down. "We'll get a terrarium for the snake, and we'll make sure it only eats those nasty field mice we keep seeing in the yard. He'll have plenty of space to live his life, and you won't ever have to go anywhere near him if you don't want to."

"Of course I don't want to!" Her panicked face was starting to return to its normal color, though a quick glance at Ron showed he was extremely pale. "Sorry," Ginny muttered, not sounding sorry in the slightest. "But you deserved it."

Ron opened his mouth, but I flicked my wand sideways and he sputtered; a moment later, he spat a woolen sock out of his mouth. "What the hell?"

"Put a sock in it," George bellowed, as everyone covered their ears. "Good one, Harry!" Ginny laughed, and the nervous ball that had formed in my stomach slowly unravelled, leaving me feeling a lot better about the rest of the evening. Even the baby looked impressed by my magic, giggling quietly in the high chair next to his mother.

"Get it out of here, Ron!" Mr. Weasley said, watching the snake with disdain. "Molly won't come back in here until you do." Ron got the hint, levitating the box out the back door before walking back across the kitchen to retrieve his fearful mother. When she returned, her eyes roamed the kitchen looking for the snake, even as Ron explained it had been removed.

Once everyone had recovered - especially Ron, who spent a few minutes coughing up pieces of string - I started opening the rest of the presents. Bill and Fleur (who was visiting her family in France) had conspired to give Ginny and I very expensive bottles of perfume and cologne, respectively. Reading my bottle, I found that it was a set for couples only, as it enhanced the attraction for the opposite sex significantly. I got the sense that, despite his over-protective behavior earlier, Bill approved of our relationship, and apparently, he wanted to be an uncle again very soon.

Hermione's gift was, as usual, a very large book. "It's a history of France, but there are a lot of very good maps of the Chatreuse in there, as well as few passages on the giant clans hidden in the area. I thought it would be helpful," she said, and I agreed that it was an invaluable resource. After I gave her a hug, she looked satisfied that she had bought me a good gift - which, to me, was more important than the present itself.

Arthur and Molly handed me a receipt for the wedding cake, as they had purchased it for us in advance from the same reputable source she used for Bill and Fleur's wedding. George gave me a huge supply of fireworks, and made me promise to use them on a giant.

"Either that, or drop one on a French auror that gets too mouthy," he joked.

All in all, my heart was warmed by the impromptu going-away party, and I didn't feel so bad about leaving all of a sudden. Ginny kept giving me coy glances that boded well for the bedroom later, and for once, Patricia was far from my thoughts. After George and Angelina had left, followed shortly by Bill, Molly forced me to take a bundle of leftovers home, despite the fact that I wouldn't be around to eat them before they expired. Ron and Hermione bowed out, with my bushy-haired friend kissing me on the cheek, and I shook Ron's hand, promising him I would be careful in France.

The rest of the night I can't tell you about for personal reasons, but let's just say a snowy owl wasn't the best present I received that evening.

* * *

_-end of Chapter Four-_


	5. Loose in the Chartreuse

**Chapter Five: Loose in the Chartreuse **

_I opened my eyes and came face to face with the future Mrs. Potter, a smile slowly stretching sideways across my lips, which I pressed against hers a moment later. The pent up frustration and anxiety I had been feeling for the last few weeks had been replaced overnight, leaving me thankfully counting my blessings, of which the woman lying next to me was the greatest of all._

_Guilt was hidden below the surface, but in the early morning sunlight, my active mind focused on the luxuriating feeling of resting in my own exceedingly soft bed, watching my significant other slowly rise from her own slumber. A strand of red hair fell across her cheek, and I pushed it slowly behind her ear just as her eyelashes fluttered, awareness slowly returning to her light brown eyes._

_"Harry," she whispered against my lips as I leaned in for more than just a kiss, "what's gotten into you?" Her voice sent a shiver up from my legs and into my abdomen, and I ran a hand down her stomach, belatedly remembering to avoid touching her injured leg. She certainly didn't reject my advances, as she moaned and began kissing me back, our respective morning breaths unnoticed, rendered unimportant under the auspices of our arousal._

_"I love you, Ginny," I said, in between rugged, labored breathing. She merely arched her back in a catlike fashion, delightful noises falling from her pouty lips, before she rolled me over, ignoring her bad knee and manuevering herself on top of me. _

_"I love you, Harry..."_

_She trailed off, sliding under the covers and further down my torso, and I sighed contentedly, leaning back into my pillow. I breathed in sharply as she edged lower, and I nearly had a coughing fit; Patricia's scent wafted from behind the pillow, and it might as well have been a dementor's kiss, as my worst fears flashed furiously before my eyes._

_Fortunately, Ginny didn't notice, and I quickly tossed the pillow to the floor, trying to shake the overwhelming feeling of doubt and distress, discomfited by my own defiant deviance from two days earlier._

* * *

Head Auror Hopkirk cracked her knuckles behind her desk, jarring me from my daydream. I had learned over time in the department that it was Hopkirk's only outward expression of her nerves, and while most of the recruits found it nerve-racking to watch a stately old witch pop her fingers, I knew she was simply worried for us. Her face, serious as it always was before her aurors left on missions, was locked on my own visage, though I kept turning away when she caught my eye.

"Your mission overviews are in the folders in your hands, gentlemen. I suggest you look them over before the Portkey takes you to France, because I doubt you'll have the time when giants come knocking at your door." She walked around the desk, before heading back to her chair, obviously pacing back and forth out of anxiety. Her lip quivered momentarily before she started talking again. "You should also take the time to get to know each other's names, just in case you are unfamiliar with someone on your team." Again, she tried catching my eye. "Mr. Potter will you please introduce everyone?"

"Yes, ma'am," I said, standing up. I noticed that all of the aurors sat up straighter in their seats, with the exception of Zeller, who was standing in the corner. The middle-aged auror (the only person on the team that was older than me) nodded politely, but he had been through more missions than I had, and I was sure simple introductions wouldn't phase him.

A volcanic eruption wouldn't phase Zeller.

"First, let me introduce the oldest and most-decorated auror on this mission, Mr. Xavier Zeller. He is thirty-eight years old, a father of three, and this is the..._ third _time we've worked together on a mission?" He nodded. "As you probably already know, Xavier is a Senior Auror with fifteen years of experience as well as at least ten successful missions under his belt, though I'd have to say that figure's more like twenty."

"Nineteen, to be exact," Xavier corrected. "This will be my twentieth _successful_ mission, and that's a number any auror can be proud of." He said this with a certainty that I myself didn't feel, as if there couldn't be another end result to the mission. Zeller, as a Senior, had attended the first meeting in Hopkirk's office, per her request. He was also the only auror to volunteer for this mission, and his determination to succeed was written plainly on his face.

I had a sneaking suspicion that Zeller was on his way out of the aurors, as he had reached the age limitations and the requisite number of years in service to retire with a very reasonable salary, as well as a number of commendations in battle that would likely earn him an Order of Merlin. If our Auror Corps were anything like the Muggle military, badges would cover his entire chestplate, but as it was, Shacklebolt and his predecessors didn't like to broadcast who was the highest ranking auror to potential enemies, so a similar system never developed in the wizarding world. It was enough for us all to know that our trainers (frightening in their own right) had been afraid of him.

One did not trifle with Zeller without _damn _good reason.

There was scattered clapping, before everyone looked at Withey in annoyance. The youngest auror lowered his head, chastened by the older men beside him. Burke merely smirked at Withey as he learned yet another unspoken rule of the aurors - don't clap.

The ironic thing was, these introductions were mostly for Withey's benefit. This was his first time working with any of the guys, so I knew this mission would have a steep learning curve for the curly-haired blonde. I was sure he'd have problems fitting in to begin with - he was young _and_ clumsy to boot - but I hoped to ease the transition with a few nice words along the way.

I remembered my first mission - seizing a Mermaid fisherman off the coast of Norway - with a shiver; I had Apparated across the ship to catch the captain before he fled, and when he leapt aside at the last moment, I slipped on the icy deck and plunged into the water headfirst. Hopefully, Withey's first mission would not end with a week's worth of Pepper-Up Potions and seven days of coughing his lungs up - although, I must say, mermaids are particularly lovely up close.

"Next," I continued, "sitting to the left of Xavier, is our youngest member, Mr. James Withey." The wirey young man started to stand, and then thought better of it, drawing another, larger smirk from Burke. "Though he is only twenty-two, he scored a ninety-seven on the Avista Scale," which drew a disbelieving look from Zeller, "and he finished first in the recent under-23 dueling tournament in Hogsmeade." There were a few scattered comments, mostly from Withey himself, who looked pleased I mentioned his accomplishments. For my part, I just didn't want the other guys to pick on the rookie too much and distract us from the mission.

"Next to him is Lawrence Burke - _Lurch_, as most of you know." The young man nodded politely and the man next to him, a good friend of his, slapped him on the back hard enough to make Lurch choke and then splutter angrily. "Lawrence is twenty-three, and he is the only one out of all of us to have single-handedly repelled a giant attack in his lifetime." I noticed Xavier peered at the taller young man with a newfound respect in his eyes. Lawrence, for his own part, seemed uncomfortable under the older man's attention.

"Last, and _certainly_ least... Kelly Craft." The stocky man took a bow, drawing Hopkirk's laughter. Kelly had a way with the ladies, though he wasn't a handsome man. His eyebrows were broad and dark, his nose crooked, and his forehead a bit too large for his small stature. Despite that, he was as loyal as any of the guys, and in desperate times, he had been known to pull an ace out of his sleeve. "For what he lacks in looks, brains and brawn, he... ah, _something_. Kelly Craft, everyone!"

Surprisingly, everyone laughed that time; I had been trying to get the whole crowd to laugh in Hopkirk's office for six years, and to date, that was my first successful attempt. Apparently, I had picked a squad that liked me. Either that, or I had something in my teeth and didn't know it.

"Okay, that's enough," Hopkirk announced. As we settled down, Xavier lightly scanned his folder, causing the other aurors to eventually follow his lead. I had already seen the folder numerous times and I knew the mission parameters like the back of my hand, so I merely surveyed the others as they read their instructions.

Checking my watch showed we only had five more minutes until departure. My heart was racing in anticipation, and I assumed most of the aurors felt the same way. In just minutes we would land in Saint Pierre D'Entremont, which, according to the manilla folder, was a small township in south-eastern France. The village of little more than four hundred people was surrounded by mountains on both sides, lying at the base of the Rhone-Alps. After meeting up with the French contingent, we were supposed to travel northwest near Saint Christophe-sur-Guiers, which was only a few miles from the giant clan's supposed stronghold in the mountains. The humans in the area outnumbered the giants four to one, but even Muggle weapons like machine guns rendered only minimal damage against their tough skin. As a result, the small French community had been getting the worst of the violent attacks, losing four people in the last two weeks.

On one hand, it was fortunate that there weren't all that many humans or wizards in the area to fall victim to one of the attacks, which meant we didn't have to waste a lot of time defending or evacuating them. On the other, we were without defense ourselves, and the terrain was going to be awe-inspiringly difficult to travel, even with our gear. Worse, the giants had the higher ground, and I was sure they would be able to spot us before we ever saw them - especially if we were flying. Most of our mission relied on broomstick travel, so I'd also chosen candidates that were good in the air. Naturally, as a Quidditch-mad auror, Ron had been particularly disappointed that he wasn't selected.

About two minutes before eight, Hopkirk stood and beckoned us all forward. I noticed the old, dilapidated clock in her hands, and assumed that was our Portkey. "Now, before you get to France, I want to remind you of a few things. First, as always, you go with the full backing of the auror department. Mr. Potter has a handheld mirror that he will be able to contact us with in case a search and rescue is necessary - a last resort, if the mission is compromised."

I removed the mirror from my pocket, flashing it for the benefit of the other aurors. The outer edge of the mirror was lined with gold, supposedly meant to harness the power of my magic and relay it to its brother, held loosely in Hopkirk's right hand. Once we landed, I was expected to give her confirmation that we were all accounted for. I'd also have to check in periodically to keep the aurors back across the channel satisfied that we were doing an acceptable job. It was usually an unnecessary hastle keeping up with the tiny thing, but I had heard stories of aurors being pinned down and using the mirror to ask for reinforcements, so I couldn't discount the usefulness of the item.

"Secondly," Hopkirk said, breaking the silence, "you each have a Portkey sown into your clothes, just over your heart, that you can use to escape if you are injured too badly to continue. Rather than take you here, you will arrive at St. Mungo's in the Spell Damage Emergency Room, so please, do not use it unless _absolutely _necessary." Everyone nodded, looking solemn, so she continued. "Just place your hand over your heart and say _'Hopkirk's a Harpy' _to active the Portkey."

There were a few snickers, to which the old witch frowned heavily. "I chose something that I knew none of you would _ever_ say," she informed us, scanning our faces, which fell at her disapproving glance. "Last, but not least, anything that Potter says should be taken as a direct order from Minister Shacklebolt, as he has given Potter the reigns for this operation." She paused. "Any questions?"

"How long, d'ya think?" Craft asked, probably referring to the length of the mission. I spoke up before Hopkirk had the chance to scold him for his poor choice of grammar.

"At first glance, it looks like we'll be in France for the next week." Murmurs of discontent were heard in the office, before Hopkirk silenced them with a look. "However," I said, inwardly smiling as their heads perked up, "I'm going to do my best to get the job over with as soon as possible. I have a wedding in a month, after all. But that also means I'll be expecting the four of you to work quickly, under a tremendous amount of strain, to reach a conclusion the French and British ministries can both by satisfied with. That means stopping the giants from doing any further damage, making them retreat to their hole, and defeating any dark wizards we see along the way. Simple enough?"

All of the men nodded, looking ready. I assumed they wanted to back in the UK as swiftly as possible, and I planned to keep it that way; I certainly didn't want to spend any more time in France than I had to. "One minute," Hopkirk said under her breath. "Men, I wish you the best of luck, and I expect each of you to report back to me in three weeks' time. Now," she said, handing the clock to me, "if everyone could please place a hand on this clock... no pun intended, of course."

"I will see you soon," I whispered to Mafalda with only a few seconds remaining until we left. She smiled sadly, squeezing my shoulder briefly before backing away slowly.

"You will." She said, sounding confident, which made me feel better about the mission in general. "Good luck, Harry."

Somewhere behind my navel I felt a jerk, then a flood of warmth into my abdomen, as the world rearranged itself in front of me. My last thought before I left England: _I'm going to need all the good luck I can get._

* * *

I took a deep breath, mostly to settle my stomach; Henri Dubois was not alone in feeling queasy after a Portkey. This truth was further perpetuated by the young man vomitting to the left of me. Withey might have been a prodigy duelist, but he obviously wasn't prepared for international travel. "You alright, kid?" I said, though I was only a few years older myself.

"I'm okay-"

"Whatever! You look like _shite_." Craft said, stating the obvious. "Get up, ya wuss! The French are looking at us."

Surveying the surrounding landscape revealed green and white-robed figures in the trees. I was surprised to find that they were very well camoflauged, blending in with the scenery near-perfectly, whereas we stood out like a pimple on a wedding day. "Disillusionment charms now, men," I ordered. "We stand out against the grass here." I heard a grumble from Craft, and a half-retch from Withey, but they followed my orders quickly enough.

I had been expecting snow-covered terrain and harsh wind - and I wasn't disappointed - but in our weather-resistant robes and a cascade of early morning sunlight, it felt _fantastic._ The air was crisp, sunlight was gleaming through the trees, and it looked like it was going to be a beautiful day.

I set off toward the French aurors, who hadn't moved, but had been staring at us since we landed. I could make out Patricia near the back, her blonde hair easily visible despite the dense, frozen foliage. "Come on, boys," I told them, glancing back to see them all fall in line. "Let's get out of the open."

I was very concerned with how the French aurors would react to our presence. I wasn't afraid of them, per se, but I did want things to go as smoothly as possible, and I was sure that this first meeting would determine how we were going to get along. For better or worse, we would be stuck together until the giants were stopped, and the language difference alone was going to be a giant headache.

"Just let me do the talking. As you know, Patricia Dubois is going to be the translator between our groups, and I don't want anything getting lost in translation, so to speak." This was reasonable, and the aurors had probably already assumed that was proper protocol, but I felt the need to say something - _just in case._ "I'm going to see how far we can work our way down today before the French throw up a white flag..."

The boys cracked a few more jokes as we walked, but I remained silent in favor of admiring the scenery for the first time. The trees were taller here than anywhere I had seen in England, though it reminded me a bit of where Hagrid had kept Grawp near Hogwarts. Apparently, giants preferred tall trees and hills, not only to hide themselves from Muggles, but also to harvest and build their homes with. I recalled Grawp was rather fond of ripping trees out of the ground with his bare hands, and I decided it would be worthwhile to look for any trees that might have been pulled up recently. It might even lead us to the giants.

To the left, in a softly-slanting valley, the township of Saint Pierre d'Entremont lay almost completely still. Tufts of smoke trailed from chimneys, drifting lazily on the wind, but I couldn't see any humans walking around, a fact that wasn't lost on the rest of the aurors either.

"No one's coming outside, huh? That tells you something," Burke said, looking thoughtful. "I remember there were times of the year, back when I was a boy, that you just didn't go anywhere _near _the giants." Withey asked him how far away, and Burke chuckled humorlessly. "At least a couple kilometers. My hard-headed family never listened, of course, but most stayed shut up in the house."

"What time of year are we talking about here?" Craft asked, glancing around like he imagined a giant was already on our trail.

"Giant mating season I guess... they are _notorious _for killing humans around that time to impress their mates. In Scotland it was late May, but it might be different here. I don't know. They say its dark wizards controlling the giants though, so it's probably unrelated really."

I let the others talk amongst themselves as the conversation digressed into things ranging from unimportant - Craft's descriptions of the admittedly beautiful countryside falling into that category - to derogatory - Zeller's first impression of the Frenchmen, who were sneering at us like we weren't supposed to be here, meant he asked us to pardon his own _French_ - and annoying - as Withey's muttered prayers for his troubled stomach started to grate on all our nerves.

"Quit your whining, Withey! Someone please cast a _Lactus _on him." Burke grudgingly helped the boy with a nausea-ending spell, and Withey immediately apologized for his behavior.

"I'm sorry, guys. I just..." he trailed off. I gave him a look that plainly said he needed to man up, and his pale face reddened noticeably. "I'll shut up now," he announced.

"Thank Merlin," I whispered, trying to formulate thoughts about the mission, and not about how much I wanted to kick Withey just now - which was a lot harder than it sounds, believe me. Instead, I kicked the rough patch of grass under the snow, sending a cloud of cold mist into the air. It was going to be difficult enough getting along with the French... and _now_ I had to keep myself from throttling my own hand-picked companions.

I pulled the compact from my pocket as we walked, flipping it open to find Hopkirk's face instead of my own. From my vantage point, the mole on the right side of her face looked gargantuan, and I winced. "Yeh alright, Potter?" she asked, seeing my disgusted face and probably fearing something was wrong with the mission already.

"No, ma'am. We've just arrived, is all. Rendevouzing with the French now..."

"Very well. Good luck, son."

I nodded shortly before closing the mirror and sliding it back into my robe pocket. As we approached the French, I could make out their faces a little more clearly; in all, there were eight of them, and most of them looked even younger than Withey. I wondered what Dubois was playing at, sending a ragtag group of individuals to fight off giants and wizards that had us outnumbered almost ten to one. Again, I questioned Dubois' intelligence; either he was playing a masterful game and luring us all to a sticky end, or he had no idea how to plan a mission properly.

I had a dreadful feeling it was both.

Patricia walked around the French aurors and came forward to greet us. "Good morning, guys," she said, smiling as if she didn't have anything to hide. I was _almost_ convinced. "You're right on time. C'mon, I'll introduce you to the guys." She couldn't have been pleasant, but her eyes narrowed noticeably in my direction, and I had a sneaking suspicion that our discussion during lunch the day before had been long forgotten, and our professional truce would soon be over.

My men followed Patricia and I into the trees, where the French contingent had set up a camp, complete with a softly flickering fire and sleeping bags. I assumed they must have been here for a couple of days before we came in, which fell in line with the Minister's story. It would also explain why we started out in tiny Saint Pierre d'Entremont instead of a bit closer to our destination. The men deposited their belongings - fresh clothes, rations and Auror equipment interspersed with personal items - on the wet grass, before joining me near Patricia. I chose to hold onto my things, as I didn't like taking my eye off of them and running the risk of losing something priceless like my Invisibility Cloak.

After a few minutes of pointless introductions, which were made longer by Patricia's insistence to have the French aurors state their full names (not that we could understand half of them, or even cared), it was our turn to talk. I pointed reluctantly to Zeller, standing at the end of the line, and he sighed, conceding defeat. "Xavier Zeller," he muttered quickly, hoping to get it over with.

Craft followed Zeller, before Withey and Burke introduced themselves. Finally, it was my turn, and I stepped forward in a stately manner, meaning to show the others that I was the leader, and would not be questioned. "Harry-"

"Alright, everyone," Patricia yelled, before repeating herself in French, "time to head out!"

Annoyed, I just gave the younger girl a look. She merely smiled lazily in return. "What? I figured you wouldn't want to advertise who you were. You always seem to downplay your accomplishments." Despite her words, I could sense she wanted to rub her small bit of authority in my face. Her outlandish behavior grated on my nerves, but I decided to bide my time, uninterested in making a scene this early on.

"Patricia," I said through my teeth, drawing the blonde's attention. "Can I have a moment?"

"Oh, sure!" she said, before whispering directions to one of the aurors. The man, who was a head taller than me and had a beard that rivalled Hagrid's, nodded once, before repeating the same spiel Patricia had to the other French aurors. I walked away from the boys after commanding them to sit still a minute. "What can I help you with, _Auror_ Potter?"

_Auror Potter, huh? That's not a transparent attempt to annoy me. _"Mrs. Dubois, I'm just wondering - and I say this with all due respect - who was placed in charge of this mission, and who is merely translating for our benefit." A flare of annoyance in her eyes meant that she had to look away very quickly or show her true colors to everyone present. I smiled. "I'm fairly certain your father placed me in charge of _both_ sets of aurors. Are you disobeying his orders?"

"Disobeying? More like _following_ _to the letter_, Mr. Potter. I'd suggest you worry about your own aurors, before I start telling _my _aurors _your_ dirty little secrets." Her voice was higher-pitched and her smile was much bigger than mine, which had already evaporated. "Now, as I said before, just in case you weren't _listening_-"

She pantomimed cleaning her ear out with an expertly-manicured fingernail.

-we need to get a move on. The mission states that we should arrive at the stronghold in thirty-five minutes, and we're already running behind." She shifted a small black bag in her hands to her shoulder, revealing a bit of porcelain skin on her neck. Her jumpsuit did little to hide her racey curves, or, when she turned away, the large, round arse I had seen in all its glory a few nights previous. Noticing that no one was paying attention to us any longer, I waited until she had started to walk away to aggressively smack her arse.

"What the-"

"Men," I yelled, ignoring Patricia completely, "it's time to hustle. We'll need to make up a lot of ground after that _ridiculous _waste of time." Again, I ignored Patricia, who looked absolutely outraged, both at the impromptu abuse of her rump and my disrespectful attitude toward her introductions. Scattered laughter from the boys just made her more incensed.

As she walked away, hips swaying somewhat like a cobra's head before it struck, Craft spoke up. "What I wouldn't do to that witch," he murmured, quite to himself, though anyone within a mile could easily overhear. I felt a sudden urge to strike him, but fortunately, he was out of range for the moment. "She ain't much for brains, but she's got it like a crooked Catholic."

I almost bit on the lure, but Withey spoke up first. "What the _hell _does that mean?"

Craft snickered, before finishing the punchline. "That wicked ass keeps on giving, I tell ya."

Burke's laughter overrode Withey's confused, "Huh?" and I remembered belatedly that Withey had never been out in the Muggle world, and wouldn't know a Catholic from Confucius.

"Get your heads on straight, guys," I warned, "and keep your eyes off Dubois' ass, Craft." He nodded, having heard similar statements his entire life. "Now," I said, looking at the men, who had formed a semi-circle around me and were paying rapt attention, "I'm going to let you in on a little secret Mrs. Hopkirk and I didn't tell you about to begin with... Patricia Dubois may or may not be the Antichrist." Craft chuckled, and again, Withey just looked confused. "Don't let her ruin this mission. Simple enough, men?"

"Sir, yes, sir!" exclaimed Withey, who was laughed at by the others. I sneered, starting to get annoyed that Burke and Craft had to crack jokes at every inopportune moment.

"I'm serious, guys. There is something really fishy going on here, and I haven't yet determined who the responsible party is. Both Dubois' are not to be trusted, and neither are the French."

"Easy for you to say-"

The voice of Craft was cut off by Burke's elbow, aimed directly at his midriff. "Oww, you berk!"

"Shut up, _damn you_!" Burke whispered urgently; it was too late, as I had already caught their quiet conversation, and I certainly wasn't going to let that comment go.

"Do you have something to say, Auror Craft?" I said, reaching the end of my patience; I had a feeling the guys had already discussed my relationship with Patricia, and it was obvious that Craft was trying to goad me into saying something I would regret. "No?" I asked, as the boisterous man fell into scolded silence. "Good. As I was saying, Minister Dubois went out of his way to get us involved in this, and I want you all to be on guard around _her_," I said, nodding my head in Patricia's direction, "because she is only here at his request now."

Zeller scoffed. "I thought Shacklebolt was losing it when he said she'd been involved. Now I know why."

Craft's eyebrows furrowed noticeably. "But wasn't it Shacklebolt that said she could go?"

"His hands were tied," I informed the guys. "What's worse, she quit her post the day we signed the contracts." A few muttered curse words followed my statement, most of them from Zeller. "I know. That's pretty much what I said. Shacklebolt told me himself to watch out for those two, and I wouldn't let your guard down around the aurors either, as they're bound to have received directions we don't know about."

Everyone's faces were painted white with dismay, although Zeller's looked significantly more annoyed; it didn't take a genius to figure out why he was fiercely opposed to participating in a mission where we were trying to root out the culprit - especially considering it may or may not be one our allies. "Look," I said, trying to calm the suddenly unsure aurors, "it's not the end of the world. For all we know, Dubois just wants to prove herself to her father, and he's giving her the chance as a show of favoritism. But I need not remind you how important _constant vigilance _is, especially where it concerns Patricia." Zeller nodded, having been trained by Alastor Moody shortly before he retired. The other men had heard variations of the late great auror's story, and also nodded accordingly.

Morale was already low; I could see it in my team's eyes that they were worried about this new uncertain threat, and I knew the only way to pull them out of their melancholy was to put them to work. "Alright, grab your things and let's head out."

"Potter," Xavier said, as the others went about snatching up their belongings and shuffling across the camp, "can I have a word with you?" I nodded, and the older man beckoned me to his side as he walked away from the others.

"What's wrong?" I asked, as I knew Zeller wouldn't stop me for idle chit-chat. He was the kind of level-headed auror that never spoke out of turn, always asked for permission first, and he never wasted a breath on something unimportant. He didn't turn to face me, instead scanning the French aurors for some small sign of deceit.

"Nothing... _yet_. I just... Potter, this mission seems like the ultimate set up, doesn't it?"

"How so?" I asked quickly, glancing around the camp. "I don't trust Patricia, but I can't say without a doubt that the mission is in jeopardy either." Zeller sighed, rubbing his brown and gray hair with a frown on his face. "Xavier, what's on your mind?"

"Harry, I don't mean any disrespect... but I feel like you're about to lead us into a death trap. I mean, think about it... we're in the middle of nowhere, the only people within miles won't come out of their houses, there are giants littering the countryside with supposed dark wizard accomplices, and the French aurors don't look bothered one bit."

Watching the French, they certainly didn't look worried about the upcoming mission, and the self-satisfied look on Patricia's face wasn't any better. Strangely disconcerted, I turned my attention back to Zeller, who had been watching my reaction rather than the French. I sighed, turning my face away from the other aurors. "You've got a point, Zeller; I'd be a fool not to see the signs. But because we're magically bound to engage these giants, there's nothing we can do until then but blindly follow along."

"Nothing _we_ can do?" he scoffed. His angry expression was out of place on such a typically well-mannered man's face. "Do you expect me to _let _the French ambush me? Is one of the mission objectives to die like fools?"

"Xavier," I snapped, before calming my racing pulse and trying to placate the man. "If you don't want the French at your back, fine - manuever yourself so you've always got an eye on them - but the only sign they are working against us are shit-eating grins, and for all we know, they are telling particularly good jokes." That sounded like bullshit even to my own ears, but it was true the French had not attacked or hindered us in any way up to this point - they were just being stuck up assholes. If snarky behavior was an indication someone wanted to kill us, then half the wizards and witches on the Wizengamot were potential murderers.

"I understand that we can't start assassinating aurors, _sir_," he said, looking around anxiously, "but I, for one, will be watching them, and if there is any funny business, I'll take them all out myself."

He turned to rejoin the others, still looking furious. "No, you won't," I said, grabbing the older man by the shoulder, and halting his progress. His chiseled face formed an angry look, but I tried to persuade him to see my side. "If the French stab us in the back, _you won't have to_. We'll _all _stand beside you." I dropped my hand and offered it to him, and after a few moments he shook it, a small half-smile on his face.

"I'll hold you to that, Harry. Let's just hope it doesn't come to that, eh?"

There was nothing left to say, so I nodded and shifted my own belongings across my back, shouldering the weight of the mission figuratively and physically. The men had gathered together, both sets of aurors finally mingling with each other, though none of them were trying very hard to make conversation; in fact, it looked like the men were deliberately avoiding even looking at each other. Patricia stood out from the rest, as being the only female present made her feminine assets seem even more alluring than usual. She caught my eye, her sexy half-smile teasing, and she chose that moment to bend over to tie her shoestrings; interestingly enough, there was a significant lack of underwear lines through her skin-tight white pants.

Craft sounded like he was on the verge of howling, so I shifted my attention away from the shape of Patricia's ass and back to my duty as an auror. "Craft, take the point. Lurch and Withey double up behind him, Zeller and I will take the rear." I watched as the men assembled themselves as I directed. Patricia started barking orders to her men, and though they were considerably slower to get ready, they joined us after a few minutes. A glance at Zeller showed he was still watching the French with barely restrained anger, and judging by our past together, I could expect his behavior to continue for the duration of the mission. I put him at the rear, as he would be the most likely person to spot something awry. Besides, Craft had already annoyed me with his running commentary of Patricia's best parts, and I didn't want to stand any closer to him than I had to.

"I wish I could _take the rear_, if you catch my meaning..." he was telling Burke, apparently ignoring the fact that Patricia could speak English, though it didn't look like she was paying attention. For Burke's part, it didn't look like he was paying Craft any mind either. "I mean, I know she's what... nineteen years old, but she's already got them child-bearing hips! I bet she knows how to _get_ _down_, don't you?"

"Can you let it go? We just got here twenty minutes ago and I'm already sick of hearing about Dubois! Talk about something else..."

"Alright, alright..." he sighed, changing the subject. "Have you seen Forthright's daughter? She's so hot-"

"Shut up, will ya! Christ, Craft, do you ever stop flapping your gums?" Fortunately, I had been saved from screaming at Kelly by Burke, who was starting to get annoyed with his friend. Judging by Kelly's face, he hadn't expected Lurch to cave in so easily, and he was probably annoyed that he didn't get a rise out of me. I made a silent vow not to give him the satisfaction.

"Oh, calm down, Lurch... I was just messing around. Honest!" He slapped his friend on the shoulder, but Burke wasn't trying to reconcile so quickly.

"Just pay attention to what you're doing, man. Giants have better hearing than you think, and if there are any around, then they already know we're after them." Craft looked apologetic, to which Burke rolled his eyes. "Just be a little more serious for a change!"

Craft promised to try - a promise that I was sure he would break whenever he felt up to it. He was a good man - a hell of an auror - but his comments toward Patricia were fast becoming a pain in my ass, and I knew we all needed to focus on the task at hand. Currently, that was hiking along through the trees.

"Alright," Patricia yelled, trying and failing to get everyone's attention. Craft was muttering something forlornly under his breath, Burke was ignoring him, Zeller was staring menancingly at the French, and Withey was looking lost, as usual. "Can I have everyone's attention?"

After a few moments, I rolled my eyes and cast a silent _Sonorous_. "Listen," I whispered, though it immediately grabbed everyone's attention. "_Quietus. _Thank you." I gave Patricia a nod, indicating it was her turn to speak; she merely frowned, perhaps annoyed that I had been recognized first. Apparently, she didnt' speak in public very often.

"Thanks," she said, before addressing her aurors in French. One by one they went for their equipment, unzipping duffle bags and beginning to remove items. I motioned for my men to do the same and they quickly grabbed their broomsticks, thankfully remaining silent until she had finished giving directions to her own aurors. When she was done, she turned to me and said authoritatively, "We will lead the way. We'll head west, following _le_ _Route de Entremonts; _the Muggle highway will lead us almost directly to the giants. It's five or six kilos there, which shouldn't take us more than thirty minutes. I assume you have your brooms with you?" At my blank look - _Couldn't she _see _we had our brooms in hand? -_ she continued. "Good. My aurors will fly in a V, flanking me for extra protection. The five of you can follow us."

Without another word, she turned tail and fled, her long hair flying in the cool breeze. "I'd follow you to hell and back, _baby_..." Craft muttered, causing Withey to laugh.

"You're a trip, y'know that?"

"I try," was his reply, as he deftly avoided conversation with our youngest member. "So, how do you want us to line up, Potter? Still want me in the lead?"

I glanced back at Patricia to see she was straddling her broomstick. I remembered the comment Ron had said about Hermione and Gwenog Jones the other night and smiled inwardly; it didn't look like Ms. Dubois was very good at _this kind _of broomstick riding, as she levitated shakily over the ground. Noticing the others looking at me quizzically, I tried to wipe the goofy look off of my face before they started asking questions.

"You and Burke in front, Withey in the middle, Zeller and I in the back. Let's go."

I didn't waste a second, jumping right on my Firebolt, which was still the fastest broom on the market ten years after its release. I quickly did a loop in the air, enjoying the fresh, albiet cold air against my face, and feeling the adrenaline rush that always accompanied flying.

The men joined me in the air just moments later, and I noticed that all four of my aurors seemed comfortable in flight. I hadn't thought about it beforehand, so it was fortunate they were all capable fliers. "Stay about three to five meters apart, so there's room to dodge incoming spellfire. If for some reason we _are_ attacked, I don't want to see anyone closer than fifteen meters to each other. Got it?"

Echoes of consent followed my rhetorical question, so I turned my attention to the French. They had finally assimilated as a group, and just as Patricia had ordered, they acted as a buffer between the outside world and the Minister's daughter. It wasn't a foolish tactic by any stretch, but they were so all so close that an attack would probably leave them belligerently smashing into each other, in which case Patricia would be a sitting duck.

The French took off, Patricia hanging a bit lower than the others; I imagined from that height if she was attacked, she wouldn't be killed by the fall, but it was a lot more likely to be attacked at that height. Again, Patricia's inexperience would place us in a poor position strategically, as her unfortunate lack of control of her broom could be fatal for all of us. Craft and Burke took up a wide position about ten meters behind the last of the French aurors, and, by my own reckoning, we were flying twenty kilometers per hour, about five meters over the tree tops. From my vantage point I could see all of the aurors in front of me, as well as easily check behind us from time to time to see if anyone was following. With Zeller's attention rivetted on the French, I figured it was best to keep an eye out for giants.

The minutes passed quickly; despite the brewing tension between my aurors and the French, I found our mission to be relaxing thus far, as the breeze blew back my hair and the sensation of weightlessness left my gut. Withey drifted back and forth through the sky, looking a bit peaked, just like earlier in the morning. I decided to manuever out of the younger man's wake just in case he had another unofrtunate purging in his future. Craft's eyes were mostly on Patricia, which was actually a good thing, as I knew he'd recognize any trouble she was in before I did, and he was closer to react if she fell. Of course, I was riding a Firebolt to his Comet 360 - which was as close anyone had come to Nimbus' market dominance in a decade, but could never top its burst of speed - but Craft would have a better chance to grab her this close to the ground.

Scanning the ground was dizzying from this height and speed, but I had been in the air enough times to get on with it. The mountains emptied into a valley, and as we flew through the open space, I could just make out the highway Patricia had said we were supposed to follow. It looked as if a series of tunnels had been dug on the edge of the rockwall, and in my minds' eye I could see myself barrelling down the road in a Maserati, or something German, escaping my troubles for a few hours. I decided that, if I ever did come back to France, I would make sure I had the opportunity to do _at least_ double the speed limit around those curves.

Ginny would have a heart attack, but she could always do something else for an afternoon. Ron might enjoy it, though.

I shook my head to clear the cobwebs as the calm, peaceful ride had left me daydreaming instead of searching the trees. Looking down, I was surprised to find we were rather close to the ground, and I could hear the French aurors shouting in front of me.

"Potter," came Zeller's voice, almost like a whisper against the wind buffeting my ears, "are you seeing what I'm seeing?"

Smoke swirled in the area as a house - or perhaps a church - was slowly engulfed in flames, and through the black fog I could see something large moving; in fact, as we approached, I saw a mighty giant carrying a struggling cow under his left arm, and a small tree in his right, which he was using to batter the front door of the burning building. The cow didn't fare any better than the door as the giant obliterated both in a matter of seconds. My heart began to beat faster as I noticed the group of men and women standing around the yard, and to my eyes, it looked like they were enjoying the experience rather than trying to escape.

"Gentlemen," I shouted, my _Sonorous _back in full effect, "I think we've found the first of our culprits."

* * *

-_end of Chapter Five-_


	6. One Giant Bad First Impression

**Chapter Six: One Giant Bad First Impression**

"Fee-fi-fo-fum," Craft joked, yelling in a baritone that was nothing like his normal speaking voice. "I smell the blood of an Englishman-"

"You are _not_ funny!" Burke yelled in return, and though I couldn't see either one of their faces, I knew Burke's was contorted in fury - and probably a fair bit of worry too. "Potter, what are we doing?" he asked, turning back to me briefly, his fearful expression quite like I figured it would be.

The French began edging to the left, apparently intent on attacking the giant head on, ignoring the dark wizards. I sighed, shaking my head; if these giants were under the Imperius curse as I suspected, the best method of stopping their rampage was to apprehend the wizards sending them into a frenzy. To the best of my knowledge, neither the giant striking the building nor the wizards celebrating had noticed our approach, but it wouldn't be long before someone looked up and they went on the defensive or tried to escape.

Suddenly, I knew just what we needed to do to avoid a messy battle. Again, a silent _Sonorous_ spell infused my voice with a strength the other aurors could easily hear over the wind. "Let the French confront the giant, but do not follow them. Head right and we'll circle around _that_ peak," I said, pointing a towering stone outcropping that would allow us to surprise the bad guys. "Quickly! If they don't see us, we'll be able to neutralize them without a fight!"

The aurors didn't hesitate; as soon as I had finished given my directions, we banked sharply right as a group, making great speed toward the rock. I couldn't spare the time to look, but I knew the others would not have noticed us creeping off, and I was sure we'd take the dark wizards off-guard as well. My eyes blurred as the Firebolt was pushed almost to the full extent of its abilities; beside me, I could see Zeller squinting his eyes so hard they were almost completely shut, and his long dirty gray hair flew back from his face like a lion's mane, encircling most of his neck. I smirked, realizing the old man didn't look like he was enjoying the flight as much as I was.

Our brooms dipped in sync as we flew around the towering piece of rock. To my eyes it was limestone, and we came so close that I could have reached out and touched the rock - though I would have certainly lost a finger or two at this speed. "That's it, boys!" I bellowed, overcome with the thrill of flying through the mountains. "Stunners as soon as we're in range!"

Thirty seconds passed, and during that time I could see the French begin to combat the giant. The beast in question roared belligerently, confused at the sudden appearance of the blue-robed aurors, who must have looked like particularly annoying birds to the ten-meter tall giant. He was a male, judging by his strategic loincloth placement, and I knew from the mission file that males were historically more brutal than their female counterparts. That didn't bode well for the eight Frenchmen, who looked to be far too close to the giant for my own comfort, not to mention theirs. Patricia had decided hovering shakily at a distance was safer than getting in her aurors' way, and I doubted the giant would even notice her under the onslaught of red-colored curses coming from the French.

The wizards who had been watching the giant started following him, though they were distant enough that it would take another twenty seconds before they were close enough to cast on them. Closer and closer we came, without any of our targets noticing, and I smirked, preparing to give the order to strike.

However, before I could open my mouth, I saw one of the men begin transfiguring golems - large, stone humanoids - out of the rocks that were littering the green and white landscape. In the time it took us to reach them, he had created six, and they all ran ahead of the wizards to attack the Frenchmen. Fortunately for my allies, they were high in the air and it would be difficult for the golems to hit them; unfortunately, another one of the wizards had shifted a load of rock in the golems' path, giving them an easy to find source of projectiles to throw at the aurors.

I waited another three seconds, counting the time in my head; on three, I shouted, "NOW!" Craft and Burke dropped in on the dark wizards with three Stunners a piece, but only two of them hit home, crashing into the same wizard. He fell to the ground heavily, but it had cost us our advantage; the dark wizard's companions scrambled to take up a defensive position, forming a lose circle around the man I figured was the leader. A triumphant scream from Burke followed, and Burke cast another two strong, albiet unsuccessful, stunning spells before the two men needed to circle back around.

A glance upward showed that, while my men were having marginal success, the French were struggling with their lone giant. Surprisingly nimble for his size, he jerked his body to the right to avoid a blast of fire from one of the men and miraculously pirouetted, his right foot nearly catching one of them across the body. At the last moment the auror ducked, but the wind produced was so strong that he was still blown backward by the force of the kick. The auror swooped low, but he recovered quickly, and I didn't have time to watch him any longer, as it was my turn to strike a forceful blow.

Zeller and I were bringing up the rear of our group, trying to avoid hitting our own teammates, and as a result, we were the last to act. Zeller swerve to the left a bit and focused on the wizard shifting the rocks, so I went after the brutish man who had created the golems. Zeller's attack merely distracted and disrupted the man rather than knocking him out, and I could hear Xavier's disappointed cursing. Noticing my target was rather close to a large tree, I disregarded my own directions and cast an Exploding Curse. It collided with the trunk and made a resounding thwack before half of the tree detonated, sending chunks of bark as big as my arm flying through the air. A few of the golems crumbled as he lost his focus, forced to defend himself with a shield that gleamed golden in the early morning sunlight.

Despite breaking the man's concentration, two of the golems had moved on to the pile of rocks and were beginning to make remarkably accurate overhead throws; while they were thrust into the air somewhat similar to a footy player from the sidelines, the rocks flew more like darts. The aurors, under attack from two angles, moved back twenty meters or so to avoid the rock. Some of them thought to shield themselves from damage, while others started blasting the rocks out of the air, but both techniques created even more chaos; while the rocks weren't hitting them outright, jagged shards of limestone ripped through the air in all directions, and the French were distracted enough that they momentarily forgot about the massive, deranged giant charging at them with a tree in his hand. I winced a moment later as one the aurors was torn from the air, struck with the broad side of the tree across his midsection. He screamed as his body snapped backwards brutally, and it was obvious even from quite some distance that the man was dead.

The giant stepped back to take a look at the destruction and seemed inordinately proud of the crumpled corpse lying prone on the snow. He roared triumphantly, grabbing the auror in his left hand, and a few of the aurors seemed unsure whether they were going to continue to attack or not; I knew it was only a matter of time before the aurors, led by a silent and fearful Patricia, would share the fate of their fallen comrade. In other words, my team was going to have to save the day, and we'd have to do it damn quick as well.

"Withey," I yelled, and the young boy looked up at me. I noticed that his face, while pale and gaunt, still looked determined, if not entirely fearless. My confidence in the young man renewed, I pushed any qualms against what I was about to ask him to do to the back of my mind. "I want you to take out those golems. Blasting curses aimed at their arms and hands will stop those rocks from distracting the aurors. Fly low!" I screamed, as I didn't want him to get in the way of the French, or any of our troops. "Now!"

He nodded shortly and took off, flying so low to the ground that his feet skimmed the grass. As Burke and Craft again bombarded the dark wizards with Stunners, I turned to Zeller. "Focus on the wizard controlling the golems - he's probably the most powerful." It was true, as I had only seen the three other wizards use the most standard fare for dark wizards - Cutting, Burning and Blood-boiling curses, though thankfully there were no Unforgivables - but _he_ was being particularly innovative by using the golems to attack. He had also taken to slinging huge mounds of snow and dirt at the flying aurors, using his surroundings to make things difficult for the French. "I'm going to help," I added, though Zeller had already zoned in on the wizard I mentioned and didn't hear me.

I pushed the Firebolt as fast as it would go, and in no time I was beside the blue-robed Frenchmen, literally an arm's length away from Patricia. I reached out for her wrist and nearly scared her off of her broomstick; in response, her face went from pale and afraid to pissed off, and then, as the giant swung and missed, afraid once more.

"I need you to tell the aurors to spread out! They're going to be picked off like fish in a barrel if they just hang there trying to stun a _fucking_ giant!"

Shakily, she turned to me, and while I knew her pride was taking a beating by following my orders, she nodded fearfully. In seconds, she directed the aurors to fall back and spread out, and though she didn't move herself, they pushed past the two of us and did as she requested. Apparently, the trained men had forgotten the key directive - don't let Patricia die - as, once they had stopped attacking, the giant had free reign to approach the untrained female and I.

"Fall back!" I screamed at her, but she didn't have enough time to react; in the blink of an eye, the giant had crossed the distance and was bearing down on her with the tree held erect, as if he was about to swing a cricket bat and her head was the jack ball on the receiving end. She only had two seconds at most before she'd be splattered bright red across the snow, and the only thing she had done to prepare was stare frightfully at the giant, as if she was unaware of her impending doom.

"_Accio_!" I thought, aiming for her broomstick; caught completely off-guard, Patricia was yanked toward me rapidly, and lost her balance. With a scream, she fell, spiralling toward the ground, as the giant swung through the space she had just been occupying. Just as quickly, I descended on her, diving to catch her only a few meters above the ground. With all of my strength, I swung her onto the broom, but I lost my balance as well and over-corrected; the broom wilted under nearly double the weight, and I braced for impact, covering Patricia with my arms as we collided with the ground.

Pain wracked my body like a psychadelic drum rhythm; torrents of tingling torture flew up my arms from my fingers, most likely because I had been gripping the broom like it was a life preserver - which, in a way, I guess it was. My mind wavered momentarily, concussed by the impact, but I rolled over quickly. Unfortunately, my vision cleared to reveal the giant standing over me, that same 'proud to kill humans' expression on his long face. From my vantage point his eyes seemed the size of my head, and it looked as though one bite from his crooked, yellow and green teeth would rip through my flesh like butter pie.

As swiftly as possible, I scrambled across the snow, righting myself and diving away from the giant's meaty fist, which crashed against the ground and caused Patricia to scream. A glance at her showed she was within the giant's reach, though he'd have to turn and rebalance himself to connect on a strike. Quickly, I regained my footing and hollered at the giant, "Hey! Shit for brains!" I pelted him with a Bludgeoner, and though it couldn't have done any lasting damage on his face, at least he roared angrily and turned to face me instead of Patricia.

It was only after the giant was running at me that I realized I had left myself in a horrible position; the ice was too slick to run well, my broom was lodged in the snow, and my teammates were still across the clearing trying to stop the wizards, so I was on my own. Fortunately, Patricia bought me time by hitting the giant with a purple-tinged curse that reminded me suspiciously of one Antonin Dolohov had hit Hermione with years ago. It sizzled against the giant's flesh, causing him pain, but it certainly wasn't enough to keep him from lashing out.

Furious, the giant threw the tree at me and jumped toward Patricia; the trunk flew through the air like a whirling dervish, but, using a move I had only recently mastered, I jumped as high as I could and cast the _Wieshen_ shield to block the tree. It was unique as far as shields go, in that it would stop nearly any fast-moving inanimate object from passing the shield, yet it was poorly developed, and the force of the item would still soak through the shield. Typically this was a very bad thing, but since I had jumped beforehand, I was propelled through the air as if shot out of a canon backwards. I flipped once before trying to control my descent with _Arresto Momentum_. The giant looked confused and then incensed as I landed lightly ten or fifteen meters away from him.

"Look out, Harry!" Patricia said, as the giant lowered his shoulder and ran toward me. Fortunately, I had enough time to prepare an attack and, using my environment, I launched a few lances of ice at the giant's head. Surprising me with his agility, the giant ducked his head and kicked his thick, pale legs in front of him, acting as a virtual bulldozer. His momentum carried him toward me across the smooth ice, pushing a ton of snow at me, and I knew I'd have to move or risk being crushed underfoot.

Thinking fast, I turned tail and fled, my two feet slapping and slipping on the harsh and wet terrain. Heedless of the danger, I jumped forward, climbing a set of stones that acted as a naturally-formed staircase; as fast as I could, I ran for the top, and when the sliding giant connected with the first rock, I laid myself out as if trying to pull off a belly flop - on the hard ice. The breath was knocked clean out of me, but the giant also took pause, as his bare feet cracked the boulder-like rocks sticking out of the ice. He howled in pain, the bottom of his feet torn under the friction, but he wasn't injured long, and he soon regained his footing, apparently searching his surroundings to find me.

Fortunately, the snow had acted as diversion, and I had taken the extra seconds to hide myself behind a rock at least three times my size. Thankfully, I could see the giant just inside my field of vision, and while he couldn't see me yet, Patricia could. While this meant that I was protected momentarily, the Minister's daughter was caught out in the open and, even from here, I could see her jaw drop in shock and awe. She was looking at me, but it was obvious she was seeing something behind me; turning quickly, I was seriously hacked off to find two more giants had appeared, each seemingly as broad and ill-natured as their brother. My bottom lip trembled, searching for an expletive that would accurately describe the situation, and coming up with nothing. Patricia's scream of terror summed it up anyway.

"Help me!" she screamed at anyone, before running full speed away from me. Inwardly I groaned, but I didn't have time to respond outloud; instead, I took off after her, beating the giant closer to her off the line by a few seconds. Unfortunately, my headstart was negated when the giant started running after her and kicked up a tremendous cloud of snow that knocked me off of my feet.

My heart leapt into my throat; in my haste to get to my feet, I lost track of the giant, and in the hazy fog, I couldn't find Patricia either. Panicked, I started running in the same direction I had been headed, hoping that I'd get lucky and find her before it was too late.

However, the giants behind me had already caught up with me, and they worked in tandem, trying to squash me with their collosal hands. The giant to the left of me jumped forward, and I used the _Wieshen_ shield once again, bouncing a good thirty meters away from the giants and landing, again, without a scratch. Their heads turned as one and, after locating me, they again put on a burst of speed.

I had at most five seconds before they would reach me and I had a feeling I'd eventually end up getting hurt if I overused that shield. It wasn't foolproof; after all, if my momentum carried me downward instead of upward... well, to be frank, I'd be deader than shit. Checking my surroundings, I could see that I was standing on a frozen pond, perhaps forgotten under the months of ice built up over its shadowy depths. It had cracked as I landed, and small rivulets of water were running through the tiny holes in the ice. Thinking quickly, I decided to run across the pond, covertly burning the ice with my wand as I ran. Super-heating the ice was bound to weaken it enough that the giants would crash through, and I prayed it was deep enough to at least slow them up.

A jagged line appeared across ice, but the frenetic giants only had blood on their minds and they barrelled forward with wreckless abandon. I turned to face them and smiled; now standing on firm ground, I cracked the ice with a dozen well-aimed Bludgeoners, leading right to the place the giants were running across. It was only moments before the first giant slipped, his foot getting caught on the dissipating ice, and he smashed face first into the pond. I cast a wide-area Freezing spell on the melting ice, replicating the feat three or four times before the pond was sealed as tightly as before. It wasn't long before the giant was waving his arms frantically, smashing his fists against the ice above, and though he was surely more resistant than I to the freezing water, even giants had to breathe sometime; despite the fact that the pond must have only been a few meters over his head, the giant went down like a rock, his gargantuan body trapped under the ice. After a few moments, I realized that he wasn't going to resurface, and I could have laughed at the irony of drowning a full-on giant.

A smile crossed my face as I imagined some poor Muggle woodsman going back to the pond during the summer and finding a floating giant carcass.

Unfortunately, the laughter was torn from my throat when his angry brother smacked me, swatting me across the ice. I came to rest at the edge of a tree, hurting like hell. My breath had been knocked out of me but I counted my blessings that I was even alive. The auror gear took the worst of the blow, but I could still feel sharp pain in my ribs, and I knew they were bruised at the very least.

I'd have to pay a little more attention next time I fought multiple giants by myself in the French Alps.

As quickly as my body would allow, I got to my feet. The giant's eyes were narrowed at me and, though the bastard was bare-handed, I knew I'd be out of the fight if he hit me again. I smiled determinedly at the giant, knowing that I'd never let him get the chance.

He swung at me, and I leapt backward just enough to avoid his fist, which bashed the ground so hard I felt the ground shake even in the air. I landed and released three ice lances in rapid succession, slicing the giant's right ear clean in two; he roared in fury and laid himself out on the ice, using the length of his body like a two-ton projectile. Knowing I didn't have enough time to scramble out of the way, I instinctively Apparated behind him. I tried to settle my breathing, but in the cold it was taking a hell of a lot of effort just to stay upright. The giant rushed me with a deafening roar, and I winced as my ears and my ribs simultaneously flared in pain.

I made my way to the right, hoping to put some distance between myself and the giant. There wasn't much that I could transfigure and use to my advantage, and simple charms and hexes wouldn't work against the giant's tough skin, so I hoped I could take out one of his eyes... or _something_. A thought came to my mind then, and it was such an utterly Ron move that I absolutely had to use it. A confident smile crossed my features, but I couldn't help feeling giddy.

This giant was about to hate me.

He leapt toward me, but before he could reach the ground, I cast a furious Bludgeoner aimed right at his genetalia. He recoiled like the fist of God had hit him, falling to the ground in a heap rather than landing on me. Before he could move, I set his loincloth on fire, starting to laugh as the giant began sliding across the ice to cure his suddenly scalded scrotum.

He moaned piteously, and I began casting stunners at short intervals, sure that eventually he'd be knocked out. After ten or so consecutive spells, he rolled onto his back and fell asleep cradling his poor, burned balls.

I decided I'd definitely have to tell the guys about this one once we were out of danger, 'cause the opportunity to gloat over immasculating a giant many times my size was far too tempting to pass up.

A minute passed, the white cloud that had come with our fight slowly fading, and all the while I kept running. My breathing became labored, but after dealing with the frenzied giants, I couldn't just give up on Patricia like that; despite all of our recent problems, I certainly didn't want to see her dead, least of all when I could still do something about it. The cold was burning my lungs, though my body was still warm from my suit. I tried thinking of a tracking charm or something that would reveal her to me, but before I could come up with anything reliable and fast, I could see Craft and Burke flying toward me.

"Are you alright?" Craft asked, looking worried.

"Fine," I said shortly. My ribs were hurting like mad, but I was uninjured otherwise. "Where is Patricia?"

"She's okay, some French auror saved her-"

His voice was cut off under a roar so loud it shook the ground below me. Steadying myself, I turned to find the giant who had been fighting the French by himself bearing down on the three of us. "Watch out!" Burke screamed, but I had already ducked into a roll and I jumped up firing, launching another one of my icy spears at the giant's forehead. Miraculously, my off-balanced shot connected, splintering his open eye with force, and literally taking his eyeball out; sickeningly enough, the remains of his giant-sized eye splashed against the ice and rolled downhill, coming to rest just in front of Withey, as he and Zeller were making their way back to me. If I wasn't so tired I would have laughed as the boy turned away and gagged once more.

The giant screamed in pain and distress, swinging his lengthy arms around his head and crashing to the ground in a helluva heap. His hands dug in the earth, and he crushed hundreds of pounds of snow together as his fingers made trenches in the ice. It was obvious he was about to rise, and though I had produced a wonderous shot, he could still see me through his other eye if he needed to.

"Everybody get out of the way!"

The giant rose to his full height in front of me, as the four aurors in the air backed off, but for one brief moment I paused, looking at him curiously. His lips were blistered from the cold, and his nostrils full of things one would rather not discuss with children. His breath was even worse, and as he was breathing heavily, I nearly vomitted myself when my nose picked up the rancid odor. He held one hand over his left eye, which had gushed thick, viscous blood that now covered the ground. He wasn't going to back down, and he definitely didn't look happy.

I cursed, beginning to run again. He had already narrowed his eye at me, he was at least as fast as I was, and I suspected he had twice the stamina now that my ribs were hurt. Thinking quickly, I turned and pointed my wand in the general direction of where my broom had fell, casting a summoning charm that sent it flying my way. However, before it could reach me, it crashed into the giant and spiralled out of my control as he swiped it away. "_Shit_!" I said to myself, putting on a burst of speed; I didn't have much traction against the cold, wet ice, but I didn't have any choice either, and the giant was starting to run as well. A glance backward revealed that he was gaining on me.

Sharp, jagged rocks were popping up on my left and right, and now I was coming up on the edge of a copse of trees. We were in a deep valley, sloping dramatically on either side of me, and ever so often the ground would slant damn near vertically, making it even more difficult for my weary ankles on the snow. I knew that the giant would have to slow down to enter the forest, so I made a beeline for it. Heavy stomps rattled the area as the giant chased after me, the flying aurors casting attacking spells that made little to no effect on the massive beast.

I knew I couldn't run for very much longer, but I did my best to keep sprinting, as it was only thirty or forty meters until I could slow down and reassess the situation. My boots, designed to withstand magic, were bulky and uncomfortable, and my feet were starting to feel blistered as I struggled with the moisture from the ice. To my right, Burke had passed the giant and seemed to be using Cutting curses that made mere scratches against the giant's strong legs and torso. Aimed at his face, however, it would at least distract him.

"Aim for his face!" I yelled, looking at Burke. He was still firing off ineffective curses, and cursing to himself, so I screamed as loud as I could. "Aim for his_ bloody _face!" I shouldn't have had to tell him how to combat a giant, but the even the best aurors occasionally had a lapse in judgement.

Apparently he heard me, as Burke began rattling the giant's face with tiny cuts that annoyed the giant and bought me some time. The giant slowed but he swung his open fist at Burke and nearly tore him from his broom. He lurched to the right at the last possible second but the giant's sharp fingernails still grazed his trailing leg. He spun away from the giant, giving himself some space to recover in. He had bought me a few precious seconds but I had to run slightly to my right as the rocks in front of me were frozen over, cutting off a direct path to the woods. Scrambling over the terrain, I narrowly escaped a swing from the giant and headed up the other way, taking a route to my left that would leave me out in the open, but nonetheless saved me from being smashed.

Zeller and Withey appeared to the left and right of me, offering their arms as if to swing me onto the broom with them as I had done with Patricia, but unlike the petite blonde, I denied them; with the giant hot on my trail like this, hesitating to grab either one of the men would probably get us both killed. Besides, I had a feeling I could take care of this giant once and for all. "Take out his right eye!"

"We've been trying," Zeller explained, an anxious look on his face.

"Everytime a curse hits he's got it closed, and it doesn't do _shit_!" Withey whinged.

_Damn_. "Okay, trip him up! Blasting curses on the ice-"

"That won't work!" Zeller didn't even bother carrying out the ludicrous order, instead, swooping lower to attack the giant's feet. The ice was rock solid now, as this part of the valley was barren. _If I could just reach the forest_...

"Ahhh," I growled, still running my arse off. "I know_ that_!" As I said, even the best auror _occasionally _had a lapse in judgement. I dodged another swipe from the giant, feeling cold shards of ice against my head and back.

Withey had turned and tried hitting the ice in front of the giant, but he was wide of the mark by some distance, as even some of the most highly-trained professionals couldn't ride in one direction on a broom and reliably shoot in another. Despite this, Withey still looked annoyed with himself, no doubt cursing under his breath.

Zeller was busy shooting torrents of fire at the giant now, but the cold weather and wind, as well as the really resilient giant, made it hard work to even scald him. It did make it more difficult for him to see, however, as he swung through the fire and missed me by quite some distance. I decided to use this to my advantage.

_If he can't see, he'll be too confused to fight_...

The fire was melting the ice in spots, making everything particularly slippery, and inspiration hit me like a frieght train. _Why didn't I think of this before_? It was tremendously difficult to keep up a steady stream of flame, as _Incendio_ was nigh on futile under these cold, windy conditions, but the water-making spell was taught to sixth years at Hogwarts for Merlin's sake. Ron had almost drowned me once when we practiced dueling with it during Auror training. "Don't use fire on him! Use water!"

As one, the two men turned and shot their most powerful _Aqua Erecto _charms aimed directly for the giant's remaining eye. This time, instead of deflecting the hit, the charged stream of water was a perpetual current, gushing out of the other men's wands, and the giant couldn't help but open his eye to see. He roared, swinging his right arm at us blindly, but his feet were unsettled on the ice and he would have to slow down, or risk falling down. The giant hesitated just a moment and, as it turned out, just a moment was all I needed.

"_Lacero_!" I yelled, putting as much power behind my ice javelin as I could push out. I immediately felt a queasy feeling in my stomach, as if I hadn't eaten in days, but it was well worth it when the giant's eye was impaled spectacularly, sending a splash of red gore running through the torrent of water.

"Hell yeah!" Zeller exclaimed, before laughing uproariously - completely out of character for the older man - and slapping me on the back. "Nice shot, Potter!" Despite everything, I couldn't help smiling at his compliment. To get the man excited, it must have truly been an expert manuever. In fact, his excitement was reflected on Withey's face, as the young man looked like he couldn't believe I had just pulled that out of my ass.

The giant wobbled slightly on his suddenly weak legs, falling to one knee and howling in misery. In a way, I felt sorrow for having likely damned such a magnificent creature to blindness, especially one that had probably been fighting me against its will. Still, I knew the filthy bugger would have crushed me to make his meal if the roles were reversed, so I didn't feel like a traitor to Hagrid or anything.

Several dozen stunners left the giant in a coma for the time being, and I wondered whether we should just kill him and take him out of his misery. In the end, I decided it would be heartless to kill him when he posed no threat, and I left it at that.

"Alright," I said, after having a minute or two to catch my breath. The men had landed and they slowly gathered around me on the ice, Burke favoring his injured leg slightly. Craft had recovered my broomstick, which he handed to me with a smile. Suddenly, it occurred to me that I had not seen the dark wizards we had been fighting at all since the giant attacked me. "So," I asked, bent over with my hands on my knees, "what happened to the bad guys?"

Craft and Zeller shared a look, before the older man spoke up. "Portkeys, we think. Illegally-made Portkeys installed in their chestplates just like ours. The wizard making the golems yelled something in French at the others, slapped his hand over his heart, and next thing I know they're simultaneously disappearing, which leads me to believe the leader made the decision to retreat." He frowned. "They held out until right before you took out the giant's first eye... probably gave him up as a lost cause. It's not like there aren't more giants for them to fool around with." Withey agreed, looking grim.

"Any thoughts on who they might have been?" I asked, genuinely curious what my team thought. I certainly wasn't one of those leaders that thought he knew everything, and as they had spent more time fighting the men than I had, it seemed prudent to get their opinions. I added, "I didn't recognize any faces on my fly through, but it was obvious they were all males, and they looked rather young too." Zeller nodded in agreement, looking thoughtful.

"I'm sure I couldn't recognize any of them, although I could tell that two of them had jet black hair - same color as yours, Harry. If I had to guess, I'd say at least one of the guys are former military personnel, judging by the placement of the Portkeys. Maybe a a group of mercenaries that defected from the French army... or a resistance faction using the giants to strike fear. Either way, you could see how Dubois wants them knocked out as quickly as possible."

"Thats just speculation and you know it, Zell," Craft said, suddenly serious. "France isn't the only French-speaking country, for one, so it could be anyone from one of their territories, or even a Spaniard that knows French. Maybe the Portkey thing is just coincidental, or it could be made to look like they were aurors. They could be Pureblood scum like in England-"

"Hey! My Mom's a Pureblood!" Withey yelled, caught off-guard by Craft's vehement statement.

"_Or_," Craft continued, giving the younger man a look that caused him to back down, "it could be some cult geeks, or necromancers, or a sect of that wizarding religion-"

A wizarding religion? _That_ was news to me. "I've never heard of any religion-"

"You've never heard of The Wiccans?" Craft was apparently astounded I didn't know about them. Withey, who hadn't recognized Craft's comments about Catholicism earlier, didn't seem familiar with Wiccans either. "They practice witchcraft, but half of them are Muggles and half of those are Satanists. They got cheesy magic spell books and even cheesier bumper stickers on their cars-"

"Anyway," I said loudly, interrupting Craft, "I hope you realize that we're standing in a field of ice having an entirely pointless conversation about false religions and bumper stickers." My patience was shot as it is, and Craft had been on my last nerve all day. Unfortunately, he just laughed at my frown. "What happened to the French?" I said, trying to ignore him.

Burke snorted. "Pussies ran off with Patricia; she was claiming she was injured and needed to be checked out immediately. I saw her when she fell and she didn't have a scratch on her..." Burke was obviously upset with the girl, though it could have just been an after effect of the giant almost killing him and scaring the shit out of him. By the way his voice wavered a bit when he talked, I figured it was a lot of the latter. "That other guy wasn't so lucky though..." He looked a bit somber at that, and his expression was shared on the other men's faces as well.

"How is your leg? That looked like a nasty cut." I said, trying to change the subject. I inspected his leg, where his auror uniform had been torn and the skin looked just as bad.

"I'll be all-" Before he could finish his statement, I hit him with a silent _Episkey_ that healed the majority of the cuts, though they were still bright red and would probably be raw the rest of the day. "-right. Thanks, boss." I just nodded, and he continued talking. "Either the French don't care about us at all, or they are trying to get us killed off, 'cause I swear they've been shifty-eyed this entire time."

"Yeah," Withey said, conceding the point, "but they still fought that giant, didn't they? I think they were just worried about the Minister's daughter, y'know... and if she told them to go, that's _technically_ an order." Zeller looked at Withey with venom, as did Craft, but I intervened before they could discuss it amongst themselves; I wasn't looking forward to cleaning up Withey's dead body if they did. He was probably on to something with what he said anyway.

"Back off, Zeller," I hissed so only he could hear, before loudly proclaiming, "James is right. If Patricia told them to leave because she was panicked - a totally reasonable assumption to make, given the fact she's never been in this situation before - then I could see them leaving like that. They didn't exactly condemn us to death. We can handle ourselves."

I said this to instill confidence in my team, but Burke's incredulous expression spoke louder than words. "That giant almost bashed my head in and they just fly away?" He pointed at the fallen giant with his wand, though it had ceased moving and was now lying still on the ice, most likely on the verge of death. "_That_ wasn't condemning?"

"I mean when they left. They could have assumed the five of us had him handled and that getting Patricia out of the crossfire was the best thing to do. Honestly, if I had not of thought the giant was about to kill her, I would have bailed too. 'Course, I would have come back for the giant," I grinned at Burke. "But I'd have saved my arse first."

"That's why we're here," Zeller said with a smile. "Who else is going to save the saviour's arse?"

I chuckled. "Ah, thanks for that, I guess," I said, glancing at Burke and rubbing the back of my head, a little embarrassed. "Well, what's next? I'd imagine the French are headed for camp, so we should probably do the same for now. At least now that we've been here we can Apparate back if we need to and save ourselves the long flight." I said, trying to find a positive in all this. "I'd like to check those giants for signs of the Imperius as well, to see if we can get an idea of what we're working against."

The men nodded, but I could see they were ready to get back to camp as well. "Should we Apparate now?" Craft asked, looking ready to get the hell out of dodge.

The question hung in the air for a moment as I looked around. Strangely, I felt like something was wrong, though there didn't seem to be any danger. "Wait," I said quietly, and the men could see I wasn't joking around. They fell silent, looking at me with the unspoken question on their lips: _What's going on_?

I took a few steps away from the guys as they remained standing still, watching me shuffle across the ice. To me, the air felt heavier all of sudden, and there was a roaring noise, growing in strength the longer I listened. "Do you guys hear that?"

Zeller's face suddenly went blank. "What was that?" he whispered, glancing around. "I definitely heard something that time."

"I don't hear anything," Craft said, just as Withey yelped.

"The ground is shaking! What the hell is going on?" He looked to me for answers, but I ignored him in favor of jumping on my broomstick and climbing about thirty meters in the air. Just as quickly, I let myself fall to the earth, having seen all I needed to see.

However, before I could land, the roaring turned into an earthquake, which spurred the men into action. They also jumped on their brooms, and we hung there for a moment, watching the distressing sight on the horizon. The sun was blotted out by the hulking figures of dozens of giants, followed by at least fifteen wizards, who were prodding the giants in the back ever so often with jets of searing flame. Trees were crushed in their wake, as the very same forest I had thought to escape from the giant in, was apparently the resting place of the entire army.

"Ah, boss..." Craft said, all trace of humor gone from his voice. "Can we Apparate now?"

His question pulled me out of my momentary lapse in concentration, and I turned to face the aurors, who were obviously waiting for directions. "To the ground, as fast as you can. Apparate back to camp."

The scramble to reach the ground was brief, but the giants were on us by the time I hit the ice. I was the last one to Apparate, and if I had of waited more than five seconds, I would have been crushed by the running feet of the giants. As it was, I was thankful to get away in time, but I also knew we were in for a hell of a rude awakening.

The giants were headed toward the camp. And at the speed they were running, Saint Pierre d'Entremont would be attacked in less than fifteen minutes.

* * *

_-end of Chapter Six-_


	7. Misty Mountain Drop

**Chapter Seven: Misty Mountain Drop**

The Portkey ended, and just like always, I was off-balance when I landed. As I soon found out, falling on my arse was the only thing that saved my life.

A curse that was so purple it was almost black spiralled just over my head, and my auror training kicked in a moment before my mind did, as I immediately tucked into a roll that saved me from another curse cast from my right. I knew instinctively that we were surrounded on all sides and, though I couldn't tell how many assailants we had, it wouldn't take many for the five of us to be outnumbered.

As I came up off the ground onto my feet, I decided to forego running on the ice, and I leapt the remaining distance to cover, inadvertently smacking my injured body against the hard ground. I groaned, pressing my protesting back against the huge rock just as spells splattered against its other side. Knowing I had little time, I went to work using a technique Moody had come up with in the 60's when he was inexplicably inspired by the American Vietnam War.

I spared an extra moment to check my surroundings, and noticed Withey was just to my left, hiding behind another part of the same large rock formation. "James! Where are the others?"

"Thank Merlin," he muttered, looking up from his position on the ground. He eyed me with fury, and for a moment I thought his ire was directed at me, but apparently that wasn't the case, as the usually even-tempered young man spat, "The fucking French are turning on us! They took the girl hostage-

A dreadful feeling caught in my gut, but as he continued to explain I realized that, on some level, I had known this would happen all along. Patricia wasn't the real culprit; instead, the blonde girl had been a ruse to get me - to get _us_ - here. Shacklebolt had told me as much to begin with, but he had made it sound like Patricia was just as culpable as her father, but I doubted the British minister knew the depths of his French counterpart's treachery. Perhaps this was why he had sent _me_ to begin with; I was resilient and determined if nothing else and I always got to the bottom of a mystery. It was beginning to look like Henri Dubois had set us up, but I still couldn't shake the feeling that everything was my fault.

"Where is everybody!" I asked the man desperately, needing to know so I could make a plan. In situations like this, I usually teamed up with Xavier, but he was nowhere to be found. I knew I needed him to mount any kind of counter-offensive. Craft and Burke were unaccounted for as well. If they were dead-

"They're engaging the aurors near the trees," Withey informed me, looking grim. He pointed in the opposite direction from the advancing French. "I think-" he paused for breath, understandably weary, though I knew he'd be up for whatever battle was to come. It was that, or die, and it didn't take an auror of Withey's intelligence to figure that out. Portkeys were standard in British auror gear, but we had just discovered we had been set up, and there was no reason to think that our planned escape route wouldn't be just as compromised.

Besides, Portkeys are for pussies.

After a few moments, Withey finally finished what he was trying to say. "I think Zeller's fine, boss... Craft and Lurch too."

That was good news, but unfortunately, I didn't have time to celebrate - or to chit chat during the middle of an ambush. "Well, what are we waiting for?" I yelled, grabbing the boy by the shoulder and pulling him along with me as I dashed for the trees. The French aurors had forcefully made their approach, yelling as they spotted us running away, but I grinned the moment our first attacker rounded the corner. He was incinerated by a magical version of a landmine - a Bombarda spell launched in sync with a timed Rupturing curse and a powerful fire spell. I had been told the incantation, how to use it, and to get the hell out of the way when it went off.

"Whoa!" Withey enthused, running alongside me. "You have to teach me that!"

"If we get out of here, Withey," I said, jumping over a fallen branch in my haste to flee. James trodded along at the same speed, matching me step for step. "I'll teach you whatever you want to know."

"I'll hold you to that, sir," he said, giving me an easy smile despite the strain on our lungs and legs. I merely frowned thoughtfully.

It wasn't long until we ran into Craft, who was bleeding from a cut on his head, but looked otherwise unharmed. "Two to my six o'clock," he yelled, and I had to wonder if that was meant for us, or Lurch, who I couldn't see from this angle. I flagged him down with my free hand, but he quickly snapped out an incantation, turning his wand on us before he could identify us. "_Stup_-"

I waved my wand.

"-_efy_," he finished, and his spell careened off of my own, going somewhere into the trees. "Sorry, boss!" he yelled, finally recognizing the two of us as his comrades. Sure enough, Lurch popped his head up over their cover - a fallen tree - and gave me a thumbs up as a greeting.

"No time!" I yelled, running past Craft and Burke. "Get up with me." They stood up quickly and we made our retreat together, four men running over the cold, frozen landscape with Merlin knows how many wizards following us. Zeller wasn't far from us, locked in a one on one battle with a man that looked half his size but was so quick it was having an obvious effect on the older man. As we approached, Zeller went down to one knee under a carefully aimed cutting curse and I saw red, casting the first thing that came to mind. "_Expelliarmus_!"

The spell, which the wizard had obviously not been expecting, struck him in the torso and sent his body flying into the nearest tree with the force of a lorry barrelling into a brick wall. There was a sharp crack, and he slumped forward, either unconscious or dead, but I paid him no mind; I was too focused on my longtime friend, who was bleeding heavily. "_Episkey_," I shouted, and the blood letting lessened to some extent. Fortunately, Zeller had only been struck in the leg, and it didn't look as if it had torn any major arteries. Apparently, he knew a better healing spell than I, as he whispered something that almost completely closed the curse wound. "Nice bit of magic, that..." I murmured, looking around us as I always did, gauging the potential threats.

"My mother was a mediwitch," he shrugged, rising off the ground with only a wince and a few muttered curse words. "I'll be fine to walk, but don't trust me to run anywhere..."

I nodded. He would slow us down if we tried to run, so our best bet was to engage the French wizards, and just hope we had the strategic upper hand and the technical ability to defeat them. I took some comfort in the fact that two of them had been knocked out of the fight, one by the giant and one by my own wand, but that still left more than a two to one advantage in their favor, and that was before the others arrived with reinforcements. There was no way to tell just how big of a threat we were about to face, but I knew we were the last line of defense between the town full of unaware French Muggles and a bloody purge, and that was more than enough to get my adrenaline pumping.

We were standing at the edge of a stream now, and I paused, checking my reflection in the slow ripples of the water. While I had not felt pain from my scar in years, it was still vividly red against my forehead, and to those that sought to bring me harm, it was my calling card. Thinking quickly, I doctored my face to look like someone else, and though the scar was still there, the fringe of my graying hair covered it enough to suit my purpose. I turned back to the gathered aurors, ready to discuss business.

The other men were silent, I understood that each of them were dealing with the circumstances in their own way. From Zeller's angry scowl to Withey's fearful glances around us, no one on my team looked particularly pleased to be ambushed. We had no time to waste, so I got straight to the point. "The giants will be here soon, so we need to get coordinated, and fast. Withey," I said, pointing at the younger man. "You're good on a broom, so I want you to be our eyes. I need to know how many men they have, and," I clenched my jaw, "I want you to tell me exactly where their leader is. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir!" Withey enthused, suddenly full of confidence in himself. I had no doubt that he'd count every last one of them.

"In the air. Now!" James went for his broom and then he was off, a straight shot through the trees leaving him out of sight in a matter of moments.

"Lurch, you're gonna need that shield right about now." I was referring to the shield he had used against the giant years ago and from the look on his face, I assumed he had cottoned on immediately. "You are our defense against the giants if they come crashing through here. Right now, you're the left wing." I pointed at Craft. "You're the right. That means Xavier's taking lead."

True to form, Craft complained. "That's a three-man formation, Harry. Where the hell are you and Withey going to be?"

An astute observation, even if he _was_ an asshole about it.

"I'm going to end this. If I take out the leader they will get out of formation and we can pick them off one by one. Before that, we need to take out any of the flyers, that way we'll go undiscovered as we make our strike. We only have a few minutes, so we're going to need to work fast to surround them. They won't be expecting us to confront them, especially from both sides, and I can guarantee that little surprise Withey and I left for them will have them disoriented for the moment." I addressed Zeller, who would be leading the others. "If you see us approach, wait for my signal to strike. I'll hit their leader first, and that will be your cue to launch the attack."

I glanced at the others in turn. The three men seemed to be in agreement, but I was still waiting on Withey, so I racked my brain to think of other directions the guys would need to follow. I was starting to feel the mental stress that came with an extended battle, and along with my body beginning to protest, my head was now throbbing angrily. Fortunately, Zeller had some advice of his own to cover the lull in conversation.

"Guys, keep a 45 degree angle with me at all times. You're both good with Transfiguration, so I want you using the forest to our advantage when you can. Burke, you're the best at defense, so like Potter said, you're our cover. Both of you need to attack sporadically, but I'll do the bulk of that. Every... two or three spells, I'll need you on offense," he told the lanky blonde, who nodded eagerly. "Craft, you're in sync with me. Got it?"

The two men, who had respected Xavier for years now, took up their positions immediately. I fully expected them to follow his orders, as well as mine, but now I had to worry about myself. Quickly, I pulled my Invisibility Cloak from my bag, and I wore a half-smile as I threw the shimmering material over my shoulders. It had been I while since I needed it, but I assumed it would be a hell of a difference-maker in this confusing forest. I also silenced my boots, and used a handy spell Hermione had taught me in sixth year that erased foot prints even as you took a step on the ice. It had been unnecessary up to now, but it just might end up saving my life now that I was going to be alone.

Withey came crashing through the trees at about that moment, and I noted immediately that he was under duress. He yelped, "Two brooms on me!" He had no more time to speak as, sure enough, two men on broomsticks followed him through the canopy of leaves, spells on the tips of their wands.

I conjured a wall of marble in front of the first man just as Zeller whipped his wand up, casting a fire spell at the second; Withey's two hunters were stoned and blazed in a matter of moments. "Thanks!" he enthused whole-heartedly, coming to rest just beside of me, breathing heavily. My spy had returned, but he was so overcome from the journey he couldn't give me the information fast enough. "There are... twelve of them, sir, not counting the two you just stopped. The leader is... _there_, through the trees." He pointed over my shoulder. "There are ten men with him and three giants. Two men are left on brooms, searching the skies for any sight of you. If they see us from above..."

He didn't need to explain, as we all knew how bad that could be. "Alright, guys... Disillusion yourselves and stay as deep in the trees as possible. You three get moving. I'll approach them from the... _south_. Go north, and I'll give a signal when I'm ready. Withey," I said, holding the youngest of the aurors back after the other three had left. "Did you see Patricia anywhere?"

"With their leader, sir. She isn't injured, but I don't think she's pleased to be there either. She looked like she was struggling."

That seemed to confirm my suspicions that Patricia wasn't involved and was merely being used. It couldn't be my first priority, but if there was any way I could get her out of there, I swore to myself that I would. For now, it was more important to start with the basics and hope for the best.

"Withey, let's get airborn."

I summoned my Firebolt, and this time there was no giant to interfere. "Sir, what are you thinking?" Withey asked, searching my eyes.

"I'm thinking those two men on brooms have to go. You're going to bring them to me, and I'm going to take them out. Simple enough, James?"

"Yes, sir." He seemed a bit unsure about my decision, but he wasn't about to question me in the heat of the moment. "I know where they are, but where will you be?"

"It probably sounds ridiculous, but it's better if you don't know. It'll be more of a surprise. Just... don't get hurt, kid. I could try to catch you if you fall, but I'm not the Seeker I was five years ago," I joked. "I'll try to make it quick and easy."

He smiled, though it didn't reach his eyes. His lack of a response to labelling him a 'kid' was obvious proof he was focused on the mission. I could tell he was nervous at the thought of going back into the air to battle, but it was tremendously difficult to hit someone in the air, and I thought he could handle ducking and dodging on his broom. From what I had heard before the mission, the boy's seeking had been the reason Hufflepuff house had won the Quidditch cup three years running in the years following my graduation. "Yes, sir."

We both lifted off the ground moments later, Withey taking the lead while I remained invisible, following behind him. The cloak ruffled slightly with the weather, and I prayed a strong gust wouldn't give my location away. I clenched it tightly in my left hand, trying to wrap it around the broom itself, just in case. I had cast spells through the cloak before, but it would be best to remove it when I started casting so that my aim would be better, so the first time I used magic, the cloak was going to be useless to me.

Even as we prepared to flank the French turncoats, I was struck again by how beautiful this area of their country was; the green and white-speckled scenery seemed majestic from my viewpoint gliding on the wind. Withey was creeping along the trees, but I went higher to find our prey before they found him. I sped up, zipping through the clouds and spiralling upwards, my stomach spinning as assuredly as I was, but I pulled up a few dozen meters above Withey. I spotted the two French aurors on brooms, and I noted that each had been part of the welcoming party when we first Portkeyed to Saint Pierre d'Entremond. I was angry, _oh yes_, but I couldn't help the self-satisfied smirk that crossed my face. I rushed to return to Withey's side, and I knew I was about to get my revenge on these particular aurors.

Within moments, Withey came into view, already casting a stunner that whipped past the confused aurors, just barely missing the closest target. I could sense their hesitation, but they were fairly quick to react in tandem to his fool-hardy offensive maneuver. Rather than continue aimlessly casting spells, James dodged one of theirs and headed for the ground. One of the men remained still, casting some rather powerful fire spells that just missed Withey on his descent. His partner decided that chasing was the best option, and I ripped off my cloak just as he was drawing close. "_Expelliarmus_!"

The auror looked up a moment too late, and he was torn from the broomstick under the force of my disarming spell. He screamed in desperate fear as he fell to the ground, but it was merely a few seconds before the French countryside was quiet once more. His partner had not even noticed, still furiously persuing James, who was always a step ahead of him.

I admired the younger man's skill on a broom as I approached. The wind was whirling in my eyes and ears, but I could still see how talented Withey was in the air. I had chosen well by picking the boy for this mission, I thought, just as he proved me wrong; James cork-screwed once again and ended up coming torturously close to the French auror, who had over-extended himself trying to catch up to James. In the resulting chaos, neither of them had time to slow down, and they both yelped as they collided with each other. I pushed for extra-speed out of the Firebolt as they both fell to the ground, stretching my arms out to James, who reached out for me as well. I didn't have time to cast a spell, nor to even glance over at the Frenchmen I had just condemned to death. Instead, I lurched forward with my right arm extended to James and kicked with my legs, pulling the broom upwards with all the strength I could muster.

James had latched onto my shoulder gear with both hands, and it was fortunate he didn't rip my entire arm off in the process. For a few moments, he hung off of my shoulder in fear, and he pulled my right arm taut, as it was the only thing keeping James from a disastrous fall. My left hand was clenching the broom so hard it felt like a razor was being dragged slowly across my palm, and I knew he was too heavy for us to sustain this flight, so I guided the broom toward a patch of snow and dropped him a few meters over the ground. He screamed, before smashing into the ground with the smallest _oomph_. His eyes bulged before he realized he wasn't very far off of the ground to start with, chuckling darkly.

"Didn't I tell you _not_ to make me catch you?" I muttered, feeling like my arm had been stretched to the point of breaking.

"Thanks, boss," he said. "I just wanted to test your skill, is all," James added, looking mischievous despite the fact he had almost just fallen to his death. "Turns out you're a passable seeker."

I snorted. "Dementors attacked in my third year, and it was the only reason Hufflepuff caught the snitch. After that, I never lost again."

"Like I said, a passable seeker." He groaned, climbing to his feet from the ground. His head was covered in snow, but he looked otherwise unruffled by the whole experience.

I knew that Zeller would hold off on attacking the main group until after I had attacked myself, but if they were caught by the mass of Frenchmen before Withey and I reached the other side, it was going to be a bloodbath. Three men against ten, corralled into a deep, cramped forest spelled certain danger for my team.

"Alright, James," I said, once we had both recovered for a few seconds. "We need to hurry; the guys have probably found the baddies, and we've got a whole hell of a lot more on the way. Are you okay?" I asked, almost as an afterthought. It was possible he was injured worse than he looked, but he shook his head negative nonetheless.

"I'm fine, sir," he said, his face completely solemn. He had not known the four of us very long, but his Hufflepuff nature was plain to see; Withey was hard-working and loyal, and I knew he wouldn't stop fighting as long as there was something left to fight for. Saving his teammates would be more than enough encouragement.

"Let's get a move on," I said, before hurrying on my way through the forest. I tucked my cloak into my bag as we walked, quickly traversing the troublesome terrain. "Keep an eye on our six," I whispered, trying to keep my voice low just in case someone was nearby. "There's a chance they've been looking for us... that fight might have drawn their attention."

It was about the time I finished my statement that the ground fell out from under us. The ice we were walking on collapsed in less than a second, and we each screamed as we fell, having unexpectedly walked into a pit trap. It was fortunate that I had gone first, as I had made it further across the hole, so I only took minimal damage, scratching my arms rather deeply where they were exposed. A glance around me showed that Withey hadn't fared quite as well; apparently, the obviously illegal trap was built for bear or deer, as I could see tufts of their fur sticking off of the same wickedly sharp spikes that had pierced Withey's left leg.

He was screaming like a banshee by the time I got to him, and I knew immediately that his injury was out of my league. The only thing I would be able to do is bind it to stop the bleeding and hope it held long enough to get him to Zeller, who was sure to know a few more worthwhile healing spells. Not for the first time, I cursed my lack of knowledge about healing, and I promised myself that when I returned to England I would ask a healer for pointers. Unfortunately for Withey, the spike had sliced clean through the backside of his calf, and I could tell he was struggling with tears as he glanced down at his severely injured leg with traces of green in his stricken face.

"Hold on, James!" I yelled. There was no use trying to calm him down when a spike the size of my arm was protruding from his leg, so I put my focus toward getting it out as quickly as possible. I doubted anyone would be coming for us, as it wasn't likely to be the French wizards setting up the trap, but it wouldn't take much more screaming from Withey to alert someone to our presence. I snapped off a frustrated _Silencio _that put his agonized screams to rest and I dug through my equipment bag, producing a Blood Replinisher and Penfield's Pain Portent, a very powerful neurological block for any severe wounds. I tossed both of the bottles to him lightly. "Drink those," I said, simultaneously casting a charm that I knew would numb some of the pain. He looked a bit more composed after he downed the potions, but the spike was still sticking out, so I turned my attention back to removing it, knowing he wouldn't be able to go anywhere until then. "This is going to hurt-"

I used my wand to yank the spike free, pulling it out the way it had come in, and I winced as the boy's jaw fell open and his face turned mixed bright red and fuschia. I cast _Episkey _a few times, but admittedly it was a poor choice for this particular injury. Blood stained the dirt red, and it was still running down his leg in rivulets. He had settled down a bit but, even with the years of injuries I'd experienced, I had to grudgingly admit Withey's leg looked horrifyingly painful. He certainly wouldn't be able to walk on it anytime soon.

We had fallen ten feet or so, but we both had brooms, so getting back out wasn't going to pose any kind of difficulty. "Do you want to fly out or should I levitate you?"

Shakily, James answered, "I... I think I can fly, sir." I summoned his broom from where it had been tossed across the pit during our sudden descent and I handed it to him with a smile.

"I know it hurts, but we need you, James." I looked him in his eyes, trying to give him some encouragement. "Let's move."

I could tell he was in a lot of pain, but hopefully the potion and numbing charm would be enough for the time being. Penfield's was definitely working; Withey's eyes had glossed over and he didn't seem to be screaming every other second, though he still grimaced each time he put pressure on his leg. The good thing about the mixture, ironically named after a Muggle physician who introduced neurology to the creator, was its ability to quickly soothe pain receptors in the brain, causing one to feel blissfully free of all ills. Prolonged use or abuse could lead to brain damage and paralysis, but in the short term, there was no more effective way to stop traumatic suffering.

I watched James out of the corner of my eye as we flew from the pit. He was very pale in the face and, with the throbbing pain in my shoulder, it was obvious that I wouldn't be able to catch Withey again if he fainted in the air. Thinking fast, I waited until we were back in a thicket of trees before I asked Withey to stop for a moment.

"What's up, boss?"

"Here," I said, pulling my cloak back out of my bag and stuffing it into his trembling right hand. "You're not going to be able to fly high 'cause your blood loss is going to play tricks on your mind, potion or no potion. So, use this, stay low, and keep an eye out for Patricia. Clear?"

"Crystal," he said distractedly, eyeing the cloak with reverence. With a half-smile, I remembered the first time I came across it myself. I didn't know much about magic then, but the awe and amazement on Withey's face showed that, despite the fact he was in his twenties and a full-fledged auror, he had never been lucky enough to see an Invisibility Cloak in person. I was extremely fortunate to have been gifted one at such an early age, though I tended to thank my father for the gift rather than reflect on Dumbledore's machinations. I'd always respect the older man for what he had done for me, but thinking of him always made me wonder how deeply I had been scarred as a result of his heavy-handed treatment of the Dursleys and how different things could have been if he would have never met Sybill Trelawney all those years ago.

I broke myself from my own reverie, reminding myself that we were wasting valuable time. Fortunately, it was only another few seconds before Withey was throwing the cloak around his shoulders and, as expected, he disappeared from view. I paused, smirking as I heard him quietly say, "This is _awesome_."

My arms and hands were sore and my calves and thighs were throbbing dimly from all the running and... well, _falling _I had done in the last hour, but I still had to keep my wits about me and devise a plan. I knew Withey would follow me, so I darted through the trees, going about half as fast as I was capable of in order to keep the injured man on my trail. As we flew, I continued scanning the trees; I was sure the majority of our targets would be consolidated, but it was still prudent to watch for any other enemies. Though I loathed admitting it, having scoffed at the idea as a youth, constant vigilance was key to our survival.

"_Constant vigilance_," I whispered, dimly hearing Withey's sharp intake of breath, a sure sign he was laughing painfully. Most of the aurors cracked jokes about Moody now that he was retired, but he was well-respected and feared nonetheless.

I scanned the forest as snow began to fall, drifting softly on the mid-morning wind. I knew instinctively that the Invisibility Cloak wouldn't be as effective if it was covered in snow, so I also whispered my uncertainties to Withey. He took them in stride, realizing how something as insignificant as an out of place snowflake could reveal him to enemy eyes. It was also very likely that the opposition knew I carried the cloak, and if they were any kind of intelligent, they would be on the lookout for strange disturbances.

A plan was starting to form in my mind the longer we travelled. If I could focus their attention on me, perhaps the others could mount an attack while they were distracted. Revealing myself to the leader would be a surefire way to draw his attention, but I certainly didn't want to leave myself in a position where I'd be attacked ten on one, even for a moment. That meant fetching the attention of everyone and somehow stalling for time so that my teammates could spring our own ambush.

Minutes passed, and we made decent time through the trees, shifting left and right to avoid any overgrown foliage in our way. The longer Withey and I travelled, the less I enjoyed the French wilderness I had admired earlier in the day. Silently, I cast a warming charm on my hands, sighing in relief as my fingers no longer felt like they were frozen to my broom. The weather had certanly dropped below freezing, judging by the deluge of snow crashing down on us through the trees.

Suddenly, there was a roar ahead of us, as a massive leg came crashing through the trees, followed by a hand that punched the ground a few meters in front of me. I was immediately alert, swerving to the right to avoid the giant that had caught up with us. Luckily, Withey had reacted quickly to use one of the trees the giant had uprooted to bludgeon the beast in the face, causing him to retreat for a moment. Obviously it had stung him quite a bit, as he bellowed his anger from above the canopy of the trees, stomping his huge feet and sending a cloud of snow in our direction.

"POTTER!" He yelled, kicking down another tree in his distress. It surprised me that he knew my name, but then again, he was under the control of wizards, so it wasn't much of a stretch to think they had sent him to kill me. He was quite a bit bigger than the giants we had dispatched earlier, and the fact he could speak basic language spoke for his intellectual prowess as well - not that I was exactly pleased he knew me by name.

"WHAT?" I barked, defending myself against his swift attack. He pelted me with limbs, sweeping his broad arms through the trees and making a mess of the environment in a matter of seconds. I took to the air, flying high above the giant before ducking, almost colliding with his face. I was so close I could touch him, but I was moving so quickly he couldn't do the same; he swung at me as if I was a fruit fly, but he missed me completely, slapping himself in the face in the process.

Of course, this only served to make him more angry, but I swerved around his head anyway, pausing momentarily just behind the great beast. As fast as possible, I pushed my magic into my wand, aiming one of the largest cutting curses I had ever formed at the base of the giant's neck. Blood spurted from the wound a moment later, and the giant stood very still, as if shocked that I had hurt him at all, never mind how quickly it had happened. Once more he repeated my name, though, after being decapitated in much the same manner as Nearly-headless Nick, his voice wasn't quite the same baritone it had been before.

"Damn, Harry," Withey guffawed, hovering somewhere near my right, though I couldn't see him. "I think we've got a new nickname in the works for you..."

"And what's that?" I said dryly, humoring the boy.

"Harry the Giant Slayer."

I nearly gagged, but the sound was enough to get the point across anyway. Withey chuckled, knowing I was uncomfortable with hero worship, even if it was only in jest from a team member. "I expect you to keep that nickname to yourself, Auror Withey," I intoned, drawing more laughter from the boy, though he nodded, leaving the matter closed for now. "Besides, there are a lot more where that one came from. Let's go..."

Unfortunately, there was nowhere to go, as we soon found out. "Harry Potter," a chilling voice said, easily echoing over the quiet countryside. "How nice to finally meet you."

At first, I could see nothing but the achromatic woods, covered in the currently cascading snow. It was becoming very difficult to see now, and my fears about Withey being seen because of the falling snow were coming to fruition, as anything hovering in this cloud would be noticeable. I prayed that Withey had decided to head for ground and find a suitable spot to attack from should things escalate.

Feeling snarky, I returned his false pleasantries, "I'm sure you've been planning this meeting for a while." When there was no discernable reply, I continued. "Please, send my regards to _corrupt _Minister Dubois..."

This statement was met with infuriating laughter, though I could sense this man wasn't the 'good humor' type. "Oh, yes... _corrupt _Minister Dubois. I haven't had the opportunity to meet him yet, but his daughter is... _insatiable._" Within moments, I could hear the tell-tale sound of our mystery man slapping Patricia, who howled in pain and told him just where he could stick his wand.

"Leave her alone," I said on reflex, taking a few steps in the direction the voice had come from.

"Ah, ah, ahh," he mocked, his voice goading me into righteous anger. _Where the hell is he_? "Take another step and pretty pet Patricia will be painted red across the ice." There was a sense of finality in his voice, as if he was just daring me to test him. I knew from experience that dark wizards _wanted _to kill the damsel in distress, but only in a way that would put me at risk as well. It would be too _easy_ to just kill the girl and take me head on. Instead, they would try to lure me in, hoping I'd lose my head in the face of Patricia's death.

"Why should I care?" I scoffed. I had my own assumptions that Patricia didn't have anything to do with this, but I wasn't going to let the bad guys know that. "She's just as crooked as her father-"

"That's _not_ true-"

There was another smack, this time quite a bit sharper than the last, and Patricia yelped, probably recoiling in shock at the hastily delivered blow. "Shut up, bitch!" someone yelled, obviously not the man I had speaking to. I could hear a brief scuffle, and then the leader started talking again, this time with renewed vigor.

"You see, Mr. Potter, things are quite out of your control. If you do not give yourself up, not only will the only last Dubois child be dead, so will your merry little band of devoted followers." In addition to titters from the crowd, a darkening realization followed his statement, sending my stomach into a nervous bout of terror. Sure enough, my worst suspicions were confirmed a moment later.

Zeller, Craft and Burke were all being held captive by the French aurors. Each were carrying injuries, ranging from Craft's black-eye to Burke's busted lip, as well as Zeller's bad leg, which had been lacerated earlier. Craft also seemed to be favoring his ribs, and I imagined a smart-ass comment from Kelly had put him on the receiving end of a worse beating than his compatriots. Zeller eyed me with some intensity, as if he was trying to relay a message, but there was no way to know what he was thinking. I was a decent Occlumens, but Legilimency without a wand over a distance was not my forte.

"So, what will it be, Mr. Potter? Give up and I will let the others go free. Continue to fight... and I will kill each one of your friends myself. You have fifteen seconds to think about it." He pushed Patricia in front of the others, running his gloved-hand through her long blonde hair. When she spat at him, bits of the saliva running into his mask, he pulled her head down and whipped his wand out. Rather than wipe the spit from his face, he used his tongue to get his own taste of her saliva, drawing a sickened and appalled reaction from the girl. He smiled through his mask, turning his eyes back to me. "Ten seconds..."

The seconds passed slowly for me. I made up my mind not to give him the satisfaction of touching my wand, as I wasn't about to let a dark wizard strike me down when I was defenseless. That put my friends in jeopardy, but they knew the repercussions of their actions, and I knew none of my aurors would appreciate alleviating their stress just long enough to get all of us killed.

As he began counting outloud, I went to work, an unspoken Illusion forming to hide my movements, followed immediately by a verbal _Aguamenti_ that doused the area in front of us with gallons of water. "_Glacius!" _I yelled, rolling to the left as soon as the spell had exited my wand. The water froze in place, thick and difficult to penetrate, even for the dozens of spells splashing against its exterior.

For a few seconds, my defensive wall held, hiding me from the others, but it wasn't long before bright red flares replaced it, spiralling into the spot I had been standing before I dove. I recovered from my roll and conjured a silver shield remniscent of Voldemort that would deflect almost all spells and had the added benefit of merely being pulverised upon contact with an Avada Kedavra. Unfortunately, if there were too many spells to block, the shield was a hindrance; I hit the ground immediately, feel the scorching heat from the spells, but fortunately, the snow had piled up in front of me, offering a barricade from the dangerous magic. I breathed a sigh of relief, not sure I could have avoided the onslaught if I had not fallen to the ground.

The cacophony of noise produced by the entire army focusing on me made it difficult to think, much less protect myself. Still, I turned and Apparated thirty meters to the left, sighing in relief as I found there were no anti-Apparation wards erected. Less than five seconds passed before I heard another crack, this time from the branches littering the frozen ground, and though I couldn't see anything, I assumed it was Withey joining me.

Unfortunately, he was the only reinforcement I had, and the bad guys were just as quick on the uptake. "Potter!" yelled one of the French aurors popping into view. "_Confringo!_

The blasting curse narrowly missed me, colliding with a tree that exploded in shards; I ducked to avoid the worst of the splintered trunk, but some of the wood dug into the exposed parts of my back and arms nonetheless. Grimacing, I cast the same spell back at the auror, who ducked as well. Unfortunately for him, I had chosen to aim the spell closer to the ground level, guessing he'd dodge it instead of block it. His face took the brunt of the curse, and I looked away as the unlucky man's head exploded, splattering the countryside with his skin and blood.

My stomach twisted momentarily, but I didn't have time to get sick; another curse flew past me from the left, unrecognizable under the circumstances, but undoubtedly aimed to maim or kill. Looking up, I could see that Withey had already taken out my target for me, as the man who had tried to hit me was now missing his wand arm. One _Stupefy _later, Withey had rewrapped the cloak around his body and disappeared once more.

I slapped a hex out of the air with my shield, whipping my wand in the direction of the spell and shouting, "_Deprimo!_" The incantation produced a powerful blast of wind that caught my target by the coat tails and sent his billowing robes flying over his head. He screamed in frustration, tearing the clothing from his head, right as Withey swooped in with a roar. He brutally cut the man from left leg to right shoulder, showing a tenacity I had never noticed from James in the past. Judging by the half-crazed look in his eyes as he took out another enemy, I was beginning to think that this battle would scar James, and not just from the wound on his leg.

However, I couldn't be a psychiatrist to him when we were being overrun by the fanatical French. A bludgeoner hit my shoulder and nearly took my arm off, sending me spinning to the ground in a heap. A second spell, one I didn't recognize, smashed into the ice at my feet and sent me flying arse over tea kettle, slamming back to the hard ground in less than two seconds.

My senses were on overload from the fall, as I had very badly banged my elbow and I was pretty sure my ankle was sprained, though I had enough sense to numb the injury before I tried walking on it. It was fortunate I had landed behind a row of trees, as they concealed my location long enough for me to recover. Very quickly, I transfigured one of the trees, and as it turned out, I moved just in the nick of time; an auror ran around the corner and was clotheslined by the moving branches, hitting the ground heavily. A second later, the tree grabbed him by his arms and threw him into the air, his screams sounding rather muted and faraway by the time he hit the ground.

We were running through our opponents quickly enough but I was uncertain of my teammates' conditions. As the seconds passed, I realized that the French aurors had decided against sending one of their own after Withey and I, as we had soundly defeated each of them in turn. It was a hell of an accomplishment that no one in my team had been lost despite the fact the French had ambushed us in their own territory.

"Withey," I whispered, noting that I wasn't being attacked at the moment, and trying to impart last minute instructions.

"Yes, boss?" was his immediate reply, coming from somewhere to the left of me.

"I'm going for the leader. Free Zeller first and give him my wand." I tossed it over my head in the direction his voice had come from, and I heard rather than saw him catch my wand. I took deliberate steps in the direction I had run from only a few minutes ago.

"Wait a damn minute-"

"Is that it?" I yelled, cutting off my teammate. The sound reverberated in the near-silent clearing as I drew ever closer to the French leader. "Is that the best you can do?"

My rhetorical question was met with more sporadic laughter, this time alarmingly close to me. Before I could turn, I was hit with a spell that might as well have been a brick to the back of my head. For a while, I faded in and out of consciousness, unsure where I was or what had happened to me. The scenery appeared to me in bewildering arrays of light, white with bits of unfocused color, and I divined that I was being carried... _somewhere_. My next coherent thought was:

_Finally, everything is going according to plan..._

* * *

-_end of Chapter Seven-_


	8. Pure as Driven Snow

_If you have been following this story, but you have not read the updated version (as of 7/26/2013), I'd suggest starting from the beginning. While that might seem laborious and unnecessary, I'll have you know that I worked slavishly on the edit and it's a hell of a lot better for it. There have been a few minor changes, but if you do want to go ahead and skip to this chapter, then..._

**Chapter Eight: Pure as Driven Snow**

When I finally returned to awareness, I was lying face down on the cold, hard ground. I had been placed in some sort of body-bind, but I was unfamiliar with the spell they had used, so my hours of training to get out of the _Petrificus Totalus _was going to be next to useless to me. Still, I did my level best to put the same escape techniques into practice, as I wasn't about to just lay there counting ants all afternoon.

Though my body was nearly numb, my roaming eyes could see my auror gear had been removed; fortunately, I had given my wand to Withey, or they'd have it in their possession as well. The Frenchmen had left me in the blistering cold in only a pair of snugly-fitting pants and a thin long-sleeved t-shirt that left little to the imagination. Luckily, the body-bind was keeping me from shivering uncontrollably - a blessing in disguise perhaps, but not much help overall. As it was, I could do little more than blink rapidly, trying to get my extremities to work. I could feel faint tremors of pain from my fingers after casting tons of spells and gripping broomsticks all day, and my feet were surely sore from all the sporadic running, but they were otherwise unresponsive. Despite that, and the fact I was probably being held at wand point, I was in good shape - that is, for an immobilized, unarmed wizard with his face half-submerged in the snow.

I was quiet as a field mouse, careful not to move a muscle and alert the others that I was awake. I kept my eyes lidded, and strained my ears to listen to what was going on around me before I decided what my next plan of action was.

The unquestioned leader was speaking to his minions, his silky, serpentine voice praising them. "You have done well, men... but we're just getting started!" His men roared in response, seemingly just as blood-thirsty as their callous commander. He continued once they had calmed down, his own voice rising as he gave them a riproarious rallying cry. "Your brothers will be here soon, and though _some _of you will perceive my inability to kill all of the men a failure, let me _assure you_..." he trailed off, coming dangerously close to a disgruntled young man. He was bleeding from a cut on the side of his head, The blonde-haired youth had been removed of his mask, and seemed strangely determined for some reason. "_This is not over. _Negligence is _not acceptable." _He smiled, before pulling a wicked-looking blade from his robe pocket and slowly dragging it down the opposite side of his captive's face. The poor blonde struggled, but could not escape the grasp of his once compatriot, who continued to taunt the younger man. "Anyone who gets in my way will be punished."

The men behind the blonde took a few steps back, more than one of them looking displeased by the situation. However, none of them moved to stop their leader - a good thing too, considering he had just warned them against it.

"Don't do it! He's innocent-"

The leader spoke through a mask, but I could sense the pleasure he took out of emasculating the young man. "The inept are never innocent." In a green flash, the light went out of the French man's eyes. As his eyes glazed over in death, I realized that he was one of the eight aurors who had non-chalantly greeted us at the beginning of the mission. While he wore the same clothes as the others, I had to wonder how much he had known about the events leading to his death, and why he had been so injudiciously murdered in the first place. Apparently, Ms. Dubois felt the same way, as tears streamed steadily down her pale face.

"I hate you," Patricia was saying softly, her sad mantra repeated over and over under her breath. It didn't take long for the leader to return her vociferous declaration.

"I hate you even more. Give it a rest, Dubois, before I black your other eye."

"You would like that, wouldn't you?" she said, stretching her arms as far as her restraints would let her. "I bet you love beating women you murdering little sychophant-"

For some reason, he found her comment hilarious. "It's part of the show, _honey_," he drawled with nary a hint of French in his suspiciously English accent. As my thoughts slowly whirled into motion, briefly touching on the worrying question of whether or not the man responsible for my current situation was now a compatriot of _mine_, he continued talking down to Patricia. "Potter wouldn't find this nearly as frustrating if you and I were buddy-buddy, now would he?"

"_Fuck_ Potter," she said, and I couldn't prevent a small half-smile blossoming on my face. Fortunately, the expression was turned toward the ground, so I hoped no one had seen me move. "This isn't about him, or me, or even my father. This is all about _you,_ Pierce. Why are you betraying us?"

As soon as she finished her question, she gasped, as if coming to some certain realization - though I was obviously still at a loss. Pierce nodded knowingly, watching Patricia's face, and she turned away, either in shame or disgust. His mouth opened reflexively, and for a moment, I thought that the man would actually reveal his secrets; instead, he laughed loudly and shook his head as if to clear it. Though I couldn't see everything from my position, judging by Patricia's squeal of outrage, he had laid his hands on her once more. My nostrils flared, and if there had not been a body-bind on me, I would have rushed the man, wand or no wand. "You're insane," she whispered.

"You're right," he said, his voice still sounding like he found the whole situation funny. I heard him walk away from her, his footsteps making sloshing noises as he came closer to me, and I knew instinctively that he would try to wake me up. With everything in me, I tried to shake off the bind, but I couldn't manage more than lifting my right hand slightly off the ground. Frustrated, I closed my eyes once more and waited, still running over the escape techniques in my mind. After what seemed like ages, the man grabbed me by my hair, causing me to grunt in pain, though I could no more tell him to stop than make him.

"This isn't about your father." He smiled, looking down at me, though he was speaking to Patricia. "Come to think of it, it's not really about my father either." He pulled me up from the ground and I wearily stood in place, merely held upright by his strength. "And it _certainly_ isn't about you," he said, glancing at Patricia, who had gone rigidly quiet. "Not anymore." Finally, he looked me in my eyes, which were now focused directly on his. "It is, as it has always been, about Harry Potter."

He removed his mask, and for the first time, I concentrated fully on the man's countenance. He had long, curly brown hair that formed a halo of sorts around his head, though his sharply manicured goatee was black, framing his square jaw and making him look decidedly brutish, and not at all pleasant on the eyes. He was obviously larger than me - though, truthfully, most men were - but his volatile presence, as well as the fact I was helplessly hanging in the balance, made him seem positively gargantuan.

He smiled expectantly. "Who are you?" I managed to eek out, though my lips and jaw felt like the Dursleys had just taken me to the dentist.

He chuckled, holding out a hand for me to shake; of course, I couldn't move, so the gesture merely served to irritate me further. "Pierce Moissan, at your service..." He bowed slightly, and I was eerily reminded of my fourth year, being forced to bow by Voldemort. Sure enough, he cast a spell that made my back bend of its own accord, and my stomach roiled as the sickening sensation of lacking control of my body made me feel weak and feverish.

"Why..." I muttered, burning anger creeping up my spine. "What do you gain by killing us?"

His laughter increased sevenfold, and he even slapped himself on the knee, acting as if I had just told the funniest joke of them all. "You see, Harry... that's just the thing. Killing you alone would be an accomplishment worth bragging about, but unfortunately, other than fulfilling a dozen dark wizard's fantasies," he sneered, " it does little else. "Oh, _sure_, your family and friends - especially your pretty little wife-to-be - would be _decimated _by the loss, but... killing you all..." he trailed off, his voice growing soft and filled with excitement. "That's going to change the world."

My mind went blank as I struggled to figure out what Pierce had planned. I couldn't see my team from here, but I tried not to assume the worst, as Withey may very well have helped them escape. Obviously, something had happened to them, but their deaths had not been confirmed, so I'd continue to hope they had escaped and were planning a rescue mention for me. However fool-hardy it may be, Patricia and I were in deep if no one returned for us. Having a positive outlook was nigh on impossible when I was paralyzed, but I preferred optimism rather than consigning myself, as well as the others, to an early death. In this position, I had no choice but to look at my would-be murderer, fully-aware of the fact he could rip out my jugular - or _worse_ - in an instant.

Fortunately for me, Pierce was very proud of all the effort he had put in to get me in this position, and he wasn't about to clam up now that he had an avid audience. His voice turned dark and insidious, and his irritating smile was conspicuously absent. "You see, when I slice you and your little _slut's_ throats and leave you in the burning remains of Saint-Pierre-d'Entremont, the world will be absolutely _aghast_ their saviour was murdered by blood-thirsty giants. Even that twat Dubois will be upset to see you go... not that he'll be in power long enough to deal with the political fallout from sending you to your death." He glanced at Patricia, who seemed horrified by what she was hearing. "Sorry, dear..." he mocked her, even blowing her a kiss.

My muscle memory was slowly returning to my body, but it would still be a while yet before I could move my limbs or my torso. My face, however, was free to express my distress, and I scrunched up my eyebrows as I considered the information provided. If Dubois wasn't responsible for our ambush, and Pierce's intent was to remove the French minister from power by making him scapegoat for the failed mission, then that would mean Patricia, as well as her father, were just as unaware of their plight as I was. It would also mean that some third-party was involved, and not only did they want me dead, they also wanted the entire world to see this quaint little village destroyed.

But the question remained: _why_? What was the point of going through the trouble of bringing me to France? Was the village just collateral damage? Where did Patricia fit in to all of this?

"Why do it _here_?" I asked, my slightly-numb lips making my voice very difficult to hear. "Why not just slit our throats when we were in England, unarmed and unaware of the threat? Something doesn't add up-"

With a whispered spell, the broad-chested man had done something to my feet, and I immediately cast my eyes downward to find myself rendered stiff as a board. My opponent laughed in my face as he spared the briefest glance at my legs, now firmly entrenched in the soil like the roots of a tree. He stepped away from me, no longer forced to hold me up with one arm, and circled me as a cat would its mouse prey. "_Think_, Potter... you're so close to the answers you crave." His laughter was easily the most irritating I had ever heard, even worse than Voldemort's high-pitched shriek. The self-satisfied creep of a man obviously planned on taunting me with the truth up until the time he killed me. "I want you to know how foolish you are, right before your world crumbles, crushing you. I want you to have plenty of time to devise an ultimately futile escape." He smiled, his sadistic grin slowly sliding into an expression of pure glee. "Oh, I can hardly contain myself! The great Harry Potter, unable to save the damsel or himself... how noble, how _dilluded_..."

"Shut up, you-"

Predictably, the masked man cut the girl off before she could build up a head of steam. "What did you _do_, Potter? Hmm?" He nodded in Patricia's direction, as her mouth hung open in shock. "Did you fuck her up against _her _desk or yours? I'm betting it was yours... slide the picture frame right to the side, and lay her spread-eagled across it. That's how I would have done it, at least... Did you know that she wanted you so badly, so obsessively that she-"

The girl in question screamed, "Don't you _fucking _dare!"

As interesting as the melodrama was, Pierce's sudden hesitation gave me some time to focus on my mental techniques, going through the motions of flexing each part of my body in order, moving constantly from my face to my chest, across my arms, then down to my torso and legs. I could feel my toes moving and it gave me encouragement to keep working.

"What, Patty? You didn't tell him?" He took his eyes off of me completely, turning his full attention to the blonde. "Oh, that's right! It never came up while you were fucking him the same night you were supposed to be at _our _engagement party!"

_Interesting_. The demented figure in front of me moved his head until his eyes were locked directly with mine. He faced me with a victorious look, like he knew something I didn't know, and that knowledge put him out of my reach. My stomach burned with loathing, and I wanted nothing more than to grab Pierce by the arms, and rip him limb from limb...

"I don't owe you an explanation, you fucking freak!" she spat, trying and failing to move. She was bound in ropes, whereas I had been petrified; I figured the different approach was probably some facet of this man's perverted attraction for Patricia. Then again, she must have had some kind of relationship with him, though it obviously didn't end on good terms.

I suppose that's _kind _of my fault...

"I think you do, but I don't much care if I get one or not. _Silencio._" Patricia was silenced without Pierre even looking at her. "You see, Harry, we have something in common. You ruined the life I was supposed to lead, and so, to return the favor, I will be systematically ruining yours."

As angry as I already was after tussling with this creep all day, I would not have been surprised to see smoke rising off of my forehead. I didn't feel it necessary to provide a response to his rhetorical question, and he made me pay for it. "_Crucio_," he whispered, catching me completely off-guard; I clenched my eyes shut and screamed until my vocal cords were raw in my throat, but in reality, he had tortured me no more than a few seconds. "Remember your family and friends, and the thousands of Harry Potter fans with dolls and toys and miniature broomsticks, and think - _how will they remember me_? 'Cause when you're gone, Harry, your reputation is going to be torn into little lightning bolt-shaped shreds... and all because you couldn't keep your _wittle_ willy in your pants. How _tragic_."

There was something to be said for annoying baby talk during torture sessions - it had been Bellatrix who first introduced me to it, but I supposed Pierce was just as well-versed in being batshit crazy. He snickered to himself, shaking his head as if we were two friends and he was giving me some well-earned advice. "You should have stayed away from her, Harry. Now I'm going to make you pay for it." He patted me on the back once before immediately punching me in the jaw as hard as he could swing, leaving me jerking my head wildly to the right, though I couldn't move much at all. My neck throbbed as well, and I figured I'd have whiplash from the force of the hit.

"I didn't know..." I said, blood dripping from my battered upper lip. "She never told me she was getting married." Laughter from the crowd of men overrode my statement, but apparently, Pierce had heard me well enough.

"That's okay," he said, wiping a conjured towel around his knuckles. He grimaced, having obviously hit me so hurt himself in the process. While he could have vanished the blood and cured the wound, I supposed he felt this was a better show for his men. "I won't hold it against you, Harry. Truly, you had no way of knowing." Suddenly, he whipped out his wand, scalding my right arm and causing me to howl in misery. "Doesn't it just _burn _you up?" I glanced down to see that my skin had been burned black in one small spot on my left forearm. Again, the others laughed, this time even harder than before. Things were escalating very quickly now, and I'd only have a few more minutes before he actually worked himself into enough of a frenzy to commit yet another cold-blooded murder.

"In another world, we could have been friends..." I said, my courage somehow beginning to return, despite the overwhelming odds against me. My legs felt like they had a thousand little knives in them, but I also thought I could move them enough to get free. The soil here was not as hard as in other places, and I could break it apart as long as my strength had returned. I needed to distract Pierce.

"You and me?" he said, smiling like he wasn't about to kill me. "I suppose we could have been. You are a talented wizard, I'll give you that. In more ways than one..." he trailed off, glancing at Patricia.

"So, let us go," I said, my voice getting a bit stronger. "Whoever is making you do this... we can stop them together. There's no need for any more blood-"

He started laughing, so I stopped talking. "No need for any more blood? I don't think you understand, Harry. Once we destroy this village - killing you in the process, of course - there will never be a need for bloodshed again..."

He stepped away from both of us, and we watched him as he paused in a clearing, looking at the sun overhead. "The others will be here soon," he murmured. "Can you figure it out before then?"

Without saying another word, Moissan disappeared. "Damnit!" I cursed, knowing that we were stranded. Fortunately, a moment after Moissan had Apparated away, a barrage of spells flew from the tree line. My heart flew into my throat, but I immediately relaxed, realizing that the rapid-fire curses and hexes were meant for the men holding us captive. As quickly as possible, I started wriggling my feet, putting as much momentum behind each movement as I possibly could. I knew the other men could take us out, but I hoped they would be too busy defending themselves to turn their attention to us. It was slow work, churning my feet through the hard sand, and twenty or thirty seconds passed before my right foot came loose. Heaving with the effort, I pulled my left foot out and collapsed on my knees, my head feeling weak.

Patricia was frantically shaking her head and trying to get my attention. I could feel the earth begin to rumble as the giants were approaching from our right, and I knew I'd only have a little time to get us free. Zeller saw me rise to my feet and threw my wand at me, spinning away from a cutting curse and swiftly joining the fray once more. Unfortunately, my arms were heavy as lead, and I scrambled to keep upright on the icy ground. Step by step, I slid my feet laterally until I was near my wand. Staring at it in confusion, I pondered how to pick it up when my hands were useless. "_Accio_," I screamed, hoping desperately that the summoning spell would work; when it did, I was so surprised that I nearly forgot to catch it, and remarkably, I caught it in between my arm and my side.

In the nick of time, I spun around and cast the first offensive spell that came to mind with my back turned away from the giants, thus leaving the wand pointed at them. "_Bombarda_!" I yelped, and the spell shot from my waist and smashed against the trunk of a tree, creating a diversion that left one giant on the ground from the explosion and another holding his head, concussed by the blast. I knew instinctively that they wouldn't be injured, and that there would be more giants coming, but I had to reach Patricia and free her so that we could get to safety.

Running across the ice now, I slid on my knees and came to rest right beside the girl, looking briefly at the bruises on her face and neck before focusing on the ropes tied around her hands. "_Lacero_,"I whispered, doing my best not to draw blood. She winced, but the spell accomplished its intended purpose and didn't marr her porcelain skin in any way. She smiled gratefully at me, and then snatched the wand out of my armpit.

"Hey!" I yelled, but she merely flicked it once at her feet and cast a _Finite_ to end the numbness in my right arm.

"You're right-handed, yes?" At my belated nod, she quickly handed my back the wand. "Now you need to save our asses..."

"Oh, now you want me to be in control, huh?" I muttered half-heartedly. The morning's events seemed so far away now that her annoying behavior barely bothered me now. "_Accio_ Patricia's wand!"

I tried to hide my surprise that the spell actually worked, as I didn't even see her wand around, but Patricia couldn't help herself. "How the hell did you do that?"

"Practice makes perfect," I said, rotating my left shoulder. "_Finite_," I cast, feeling everything go back to relative normalcy. "There's no time to get reinforcements. We're going to have to work together-"

"Like hell, Potter!" she said, before spinning on the spot to Apparate away. When she slipped on the ice, and fell on her arse, she scowled. "What the-"

"Anti-Apparation ward," I said, my eyes fixed on the giant closest to us. "They must have put one up when Moissan left. We'll have to move out of the area-"

"Potter!" screamed Withey, who was still flying dangerously on his broom despite the horribly injured state of his leg. "Hop on!" A brief glance behind him showed that the rest of team were fighting as well, with Zeller leading Craft and Burke against the other men.

"Get her first!" I said, pointing at Patricia momentarily before ducking to avoid a red-colored spell cast from my left. I immediately cast _Protego, _allowing the basic shield to cancel out the stunner. I followed it with a back-breaking curse and a well-cast scorching curse that left the area between myself and my closest opponent dripping with melted ice. The first spell missed by a mile, but the wizard's left leg caught fire as he went to dodge the second. He screamed in misery, rolling to the ground in a heap, and I stumbled towards him, still dizzy from the exertions of getting out of the body-bind. Knowing I was weak, I cast one of the easiest spells to master - _Wingardium Leviosa - _and let a ton of snow fall on my disoriented enemy, who screamed as he was crushed by a virtual avalanche.

James spun to the left before stopping still, holding his right arm out to Patricia. She did not hesistate, grabbing the blonde boy's forearm and quickly throwing her legs over the back of the broom. As soon as she had latched on to his waist, he zipped back into motion, flying out of the clearing and deeper into the trees. I hoped that he would get the girl to safety and come back to help us, because I knew four of us working against the giants and dark wizards was going to be the most difficult thing we'd ever faced.

"Zeller!" I cried at the top of my voice. I worked my way toward him as he squared off against a thin, lanky wizard I didn't recognize. I noted Zeller was using his most common chain of spells, over-powering the much younger man with bludgeoning and burdening curses - the former meant to cause the man to shield against the second, which weighed the recipient down significantly. Essentially, if you raised a shield to defend against _Onero, _your wand would become unbearably heavy, causing you to dispell your shield or labor under the increased strain until you were neatly dispatched by your opposition. Clever then, that he'd follow an easily shielded spell with something that turns one's shields against you. Sure enough, the poor wizard was clipped by two expertly-aimed bludgeoners from Craft and Lurch a moment later.

Zeller didn't have time to look at me, but he yelled, "Get your arse over here!" Typically, I would have dressed down an auror that spoke to me that way, but considering the fact they were beseiged by five wizards and three giants, I gave him the benefit of the doubt. Leaping into action, I flattened the trees just in front of the giants, causing two of them to stumble under the trunks thrust suddenly into their path. The wizards continued to launch spells, though one of the giants spotted me and headed in my direction with a gleam in his massive eye.

I groaned, already preparing for another one on one battle with a giant. Strangely enough, this giant had neglected to use weapons, but he was wearing a full tunic; in the back of my mind, I dimly realized that this giant would be our hardest opponent of all - if his clothes were magically-infused we were in for one hell of a fight. All I could do was attack around it, and pray none of the other giants had them when the rest showed up.

"Watch out!" I yelled. In the fervor of the battle, I knew the other men would be too occupied to react so I decided I'd take this giant on myself, if only to test how resilient his armor would be. I was jarred out of my thoughts when a direct shot from Craft smashed against the closest giant's left arm, slicing through the skin neatly, though it barely drew blood.

"Got 'em," he snapped, deflecting a stunner. "Your turn," he said, rolling to the left, immediately chasing down an enemy who had Burke in his sights.

I let him Craft go, mindful of the fact that the others would probably focus on the wizards first, and the giants second. A glance at Burke showed he was expertly holding off one of the giants with his _Kattaraks _shield, but he had to give it up as a lost cause when a half-dozen spells splashed against it, making the powerful magical defense crumble immediately. Craft gave him cover and beckoned him over, and Burke scrambled behind his friend. They were working almost completely in sync with each other, and had this all been a training drill, I was sure I'd give them both '_Outstanding_' on their evaluations.

As if that mattered anymore...

We were heavily outmanned, but the increased number of giants played into our favor, as it became too difficult to determine who was going to attack who first, and I could sense a heavy confusion amongst their ranks. The much taller, larger beasts had to deal with troublesome trees, navigating the relatively small space with some trepidation, and they had to work around their tiny companions for fear of crushing them accidentally. In fact, Zeller deliberately pushed one of his opponents into the path of a rambunctious giant, and the French wizard shrieked up until the moment he was smashed into the ground by the beast's foot. Even the giant in question paused, confused and shocked at the sudden turn of events.

I took advantage of their hesitation, casting the heart-piercing curse, a borderline dark spell, at the giant who was wearing armor; I was unsurprised, as well as unamused, to find one of my most powerful offensive curses merely fizzled against the tunic, burning a minute hole in the cloth but barely touching the giant underneath. To make matters worse, my perfectly-aimed follow up spell was redirected into the giant's midsection, acting as little more than an annoyance. As soon as my second spell ended, he jumped toward me, and I was forced to flee, knowing that I was outmatched by this particular giant.

I decided I'd have to lure him into a trap of some kind, but in the melee it was difficult to distinguish how to get away from everyone. A diversion would allow me the chance to get away, but it might distract my teammates as well, so I'd have to make sure they weren't caught unawares. I ran around a large oak and cleared it about the time the tunic-wearing giant swung through the trunk, splintering the tree in half. I leapt to my left as the trunk fell, but it was still going to crush me under its weight, so I instinctively cast a banishing charm. My heart stopped in my throat as it reverted its descent just a moment before I'd be struck by it; instead, the giant, who had come crashing through the trees, was hit with an uppercut to the jaw, powered by my desperation-inspired magic and the sharp, battered and broken tree trunk. I watched the giant do a full backflip in the air with grim satisfaction, certain that the tunic was unable to stop that particular attack. In fact, the giant hit the ground and lay very still, and I couldn't immediately tell whether he was concussed or deceased - not that I particularly cared one way or the other.

I didn't have time to see if he stirred either, as two wizards had flanked me during my battle with the giant and they were slowly circling me, getting ready to strike. A killing curse zipped over my head as I ducked, casting a fire spell from my knees at the other wizard; when he cut off his spell by casting a shield instead, I whipped my wand toward the one who had shot the _Avada Kedavra_. "_Lacarnum Inflamarae!"_

The spell, one Hermione had mastered in first year and supposedly used on Snape during my first Quidditch match, merely lit one's cloak on fire. The fact that I was nearly a hundred times more powerful than an eleven year old witch meant that the unfortunate wizard was rolling on the ground in moments, trying to extinguish the flames. His agonized howls distracted his fellow wizard enough that he took his eyes off of me, and I quickly turned, casting a bludgeoner that caught him in the fibula. His leg snapped with a sickening crunch, and he dropped his wand to clutch at his shattered limb. Pitying the men, I stunned them both in turn, putting them out of their misery for the time being.

Again, I had already been surrounded by the time I got my bearings straight. This time, two men were running down a hill to the left of me, and I targetted the icy snow with a fiery blaze that tripped both wizards up and left them scrambling as they rolled down the hill. Immediately, I froze the snow once more; I spared a brief chuckle as I saw the frustrated aurors had been trapped up to their shoulders, though their heads were still displayed above the ice. I waved briefly, choosing to further infuriate my opponents, and I suffered for my lapse in concentration; I felt my heart rate immediately escalate, and it felt as if my insides were burning through my skin.

I fell to the ground to avoid yet another spell, and I quickly cast the counter to the blood-boiling curse while I lay on my back. The dizzying, nauseating sensation fled my body, and a whipped my wand to the left, using another banishing charm to propel me out of the way of a giant's foot, thrust intentionally at my face. The percussive force created by his stamping the ground literally launched me into the air, and I somehow found my footing by slamming against the base of a tree. Without my auror gear, my back shuddered painfully, but I knew I didn't have time to waste; the giant was in front of me a second later, his expression venomous. He lowered his head and charged me, his eyes narrowed at me, and I knew I had to act; pressed against the tree trunk, I took a deep breath, allowing him a bit of time to cross the distance. Then, just a moment before he was going to pulverize me, I made my move.

"_Ascendio!_" I yelled, pointing my wand above the giant's head. It was the same spell I had used during the Triwizard Tournament, pulling me inexorably out of the water after the Second Task, but while it had propelled me from the lake back then, the same spell had me airborn in less than a second. The giant swung his thick arm as I flew past him, aiming a strong cutting curse that went right through the opening in his ear. Even as I fell back to the ground, I knew my curse had served its purpose, and I didn't need to spare a look at the giant to know the right side of his head had been brutally caved in by my magic. I felt a massive _thump _seconds later, and I washed it from my memory with a quick jolt of Occlumency; I knew I had to carry on trying to find my team so I could lend them a hand.

Unfortunately, that was made more difficult by the fact they were seperated from me by a legion of wizards and giants, all eyeing me with looks burgeoning on hatred. We all paused, sizing each other up from afar, but even though I had just single-handedly taken out a fifth of their numbers, they still looked the more likely victors on the day. Rather than discourage me, I was even more determined to succeed. As I stood there, I knew I put fear in the hearts of the same people who had plotted to kill me. For the first time in my life, power had an allure that carressed my ego, telling me that I could defeat the odds, and that I was right to be arrogant.

It felt _damned _good.

The feeling evaporated when I was immediately propelled backward by the force of a half-dozen spells striking the ground beside me; I leapt aside at the opportune moment but I was still thrown across the clearing. I clenched my eyes shut right before I hit the ground, and though I tried not to cry out, when I smacked against the ground I couldn't resist; my right side had been scraped raw by the rough, rocky terrain, and it burned like a hot iron had just been pressed to my abdomen. Auspiciously, it didn't feel like I had any internal injuries so I scrambled back to my feet, running diagonally through the trees in order to fall behind my teammates. I was no coward, but I certainly needed a minute to recover after that hellacious fall.

By happy chance, James chose that moment to return to the battlefield, and I saw him out of the corner of my eye as he swooped in on my Firebolt. He spotted me once I waved him over so he took off in my direction. I pointed at the line of enemies behind me, hoping to convey that I didn't need a rescue, just a bit of cover. I was making long strides to get out the way of their near-relentless curses, but I knew I wouldn't last much longer without someone or some thing turning the situation in my favor.

To buy myself a bit of time, I decided I'd head up in the canopy of trees. "_Ascendio!_" I cast again, my controlled flight landing me half-way up a massive oak; the view was magnificent in the glowing sunlight, but the barrage of spells soon left the tree in tatters. However, it had become tremendously difficult to hit me, as I made a game of it; I would slide down the length of a branch until they thought I was stuck, and then use the climbing spell to jump across to another, laughing loudly as each broken tree trunk fell to the ground far below.

After two or three attempts, they seemed to give up chasing me, having apparently resigned themselves to losing me amongst the trees. Evading them had forced them to waste precious time that they could have been focusing on the other members of my team, and I hoped that Zeller & Co. had capitalized on the decreased numbers.

As soon as the men targetting me had turned around, I got cheeky, backflipping off of the tree and using _Arresto Momentum _to guide myself softly to the ground. I came down a few meters behind my last adversary, and I didn't hesitate; "_Vercundus!" _I yelled, and the bludgeoning curse struck him in the back, slinging him into two of my foes, and sending all three men to the ground. I smiled as they all turned, unsure what had just attacked them. A domed, pearly blue shield appeared in front of and behind me before they could mount an offensive, and their spells were reflected back at them instantly, knocking most of them to the ground like dominoes.

I waved my wand twice horizontally and a gust of wind forced them all to stay down; James flew around them moments later, sweeping his wand in a circle and leaving most of their crew tied up in thick, restrictive ropes that tightened noticeably as they struggled. One of the men was being choked as he proceeded to freak out, but I had pity on him. "_Lacero!" _ I said quickly, cutting off a portion of the rope that had wound around his neck. His face, which had rapidly turned blue as he was asphyxiated, soon returned to normal, though he didn't seem overtly pleased to be huddled with his captured companions, or to be bleeding from the cut on his neck.

"Good one, James!" I yelled. "Let's help the others-"

This time, neither of us reacted quick enough and Withey was taken unawares. Though he was only five or six meters off of the ground, the orange-tinged spell that hit me threw him off the broom and headfirst onto the rocky ground. I went after him immediately, knowing that from the angle of the fall, Withey wasn't just going to get back up.

Sure enough, he was writhing in pain by the time I reached him, looking as though he had landed on the side of his face; the admittedly handsome young man had a deep cut in his right cheek that was losing a lot of blood quickly, and my first thought was that he'd never look quite the same again. Fortunately, once I had inspected him a little closer, I figured James would make a full recovery, as it wasn't a dark spell that had injured him. Instead, the fall itself had ground his face into a bloody mush, making it much less difficult to cure, but probably just as painful.

"James!" I said, trying to get his attention, though I might as well have been talking to a wall. I repeated his name a few more times, the volume escalating each time he didn't answer. Eventually, Withey looked up from the ground, saying nothing, but at least making an attempt to rise to his feet. I cast every charm and spell I knew to stop bleeding and heal the particularly troublesome scars littering his temple and forehead, but there wasn't much I could do under the circumstances, so I fell back into a defensive position.

I immediately noticed three men trying to corner us. I quickly decided that I'd have to protect Withey, as he certainly wasn't going to hop back up and give me a hand with half his face shaved off. "_Contegus!_" I yelled, going to one knee and keeping my right hand held erect, pushing a continuous amount of power into my wand to hold the domed shield in place. Spell after spell rattled my shield, and all the while I tried waking my youngest teammate, having very little success in getting him back to his feet. "Withey! Wake up, damn you-"

I punched him in the chest and he virtually leapt to his feet, before crumpling to the ground, screaming expletives. His leg, which had been torn horribly when he fell into a Muggle trap earlier, could no longer support his weight, and he seemed disheartened by the state of his bleeding face. "Calm down! I need you to Apparate out of here-"

"I can't do that, sir!" he said, beginning to tremble. He had lost a lot of blood, and in the cold weather with his terrifyingly injured leg exposed, I was worried he'd start to slip into shock. For a moment, the battered visage of Alastor Moody appeared in my mind's eye, and I forcibly shook the specter from my head, praying that Withey wouldn't end up with a peg leg and a revolving eye. "There's an anti-Apparation ward-"

"I know, Withey, but we're out of range-"

Withey continued to resist, his pale face fearful. "I've lost too much blood-"

"I know you've lost a lot of blood, but you need to get back to Patricia," I yelled, pausing to increase the strength of the shield as some powerful hexes smashed against it, "Damnit, Withey! I can't hold this shield any longer so get the hell out of here!" When he didn't immediately move, I reverted my shield into a outward percussive blast, using a trick I'd learned from Zeller years ago. The domed shield was futile, but the shards of magical energy buffeted our closest enemies with an electrical current. Their momentary lapse in concentration gave Withey enough time to get his head out of his arse, and he popped away just as they began launching spells again.

A killing curse flew past me to the left, followed by a Cruciatus to the right, and I used every bit of my training to dodge the seemingly relentless chain of spells. A tripping jinx hit me in the left leg and sent me sprawling to the ground, but I rolled off of my stomach and onto my back, casting an efficient shield that covered only the area effected by the curse. When it fizzled out, I climbed back to my feet gratefully, my trainers scraping the hard soil.

Craft and Burke joined me then, each of them lunging for the team of five wizards squaring off against us. Burke fell to one knee, casting his mainstay, the _Kattaraks, _and absorbing the majority of the offensive spells. A killing curse burst through it, but he dove to the left and it barrelled into a tree, splitting down the middle like a knife through buttered bread. Craft cast a verbal spell that was too long to use under ordinary circumstances; however, with the additional time provided by his friend, Craft was able to full pronounce his incantation. "_Eliminius Permanentamente!"_

A powerful shockwave ripped through their ranks, and I couldn't resist pitying my enemies, though I certainly wouldn't lose any sleep over it. Craft's face was pulled tight in an expression of fiery anger, as if he had taken it personal that the French were trying to kill us and this attack in particular was his recompense for it. "Take that!" he yelled, adding a few expletives for extra effect. Kelly smiled grimly moments later, thoroughly satisfied that each of his targets had been knocked out of the fight.

"Damn good shot," I said despite myself; I never liked complimenting Kelly, as it tended to go straight to his overly large head, but in this case, he deserved some kudos. Kelly's lips formed a gap-toothed smile, but he didn't return my glance or thank me for the comment as he was still watching his fallen enemies. The silence stretched long enough that it became awkward standing in the cold, waiting for Craft to get over the vendetta that had surreptitiously crawled into his normally free-spirited heart. Finally, Kelly turned and faced me, asking a question I couldn't rightly answer.

"Where's Withey?"

I shook my head, uncertain of the boy's whereabouts, though I had been the last to see him. "He got caught by a spell that knocked him off his broom and bloodied his face some kind of bad. I was holding off the worst of the barrage while he laid there, and when he finally got to his feet I told him to Apparate back to Patricia." I sighed, noticing that there were more enemies coming into range. "Eight o'clock," I told Craft, who immediately pivoted on the balls of his feet, taking up an offensive position; Burke, who was on his right, also spun to face the incoming wizards, obviously taking a defensive role.

I decided I'd take the right wing, and let Craft lead, as his determined stride had already brought him closest to the first line of attackers. He began by shooting small balls of conjured metal from his wand - not as powerful as a Muggle gun, but just as difficult to track from a defensive viewpoint and much larger than a bullet. The first masked figure took one to the shoulder and spun to the ground with a cry, but the rest of his bombardment was lost to the wind, either smacking against their shields or missing them completely. Craft was not deterred, as he repetively conjured more metal, finally directing a swarm of the destructive material to attack.

Many of our enemies chose to blast the metal out of the air with a wide-area _Finite Incantatum_, but they could not dispell so many objects at once, and some of them were forced to the ground under the onslaught. Capitalizing on Craft's offense, I aimed a chain of stunners at the fallen combattants, knocking more than one of them out of the fight before they could stop the metal shards from pushing them back. Burke was redirecting spells rather than shield against them, guiding cutting curses and a varied array of hexes around us.

Killing curses, however, could not be redirected, and I heard him yell, "Duck!" Unsure whether his command was for me or not, I fell to the ground on my stomach, cocking my wand at the nearest wizard. A green light flashed in the area, but from my viewpoint, I couldn't see if anyone had been hit or not. A group of men seven strong stood near the edge of the closest mountain, and I could see two giants behind them, each with a pair of wizards set on their massive shoulders. Their wands were aimed at me, and facing such numbers at close range, my confidence was beginning to slip.

The situation became worse when Burke screamed again, "NO!" He was defending against a half-dozen spells, but his eyes were turned away, focused on a lump across the clearing. My head turned too late to notice our fallen friend, Kelly Craft, who was face down on tufts of dying grass splitting the icy ground and didn't look like he was going to be moving any time soon. In fact, I realized belatedly that Craft had taken the killing curse that I had assumed was meant for me. Snarling, I rose to my feet, suddenly undeterred by the approaching enemy. Energy crackled from my wandtip without an incantation, propelled by the desperate thought that I had failed my teammate, and further fueled by my anger that a life I was responsible for had been taken away so early. Rage took over in that instant, and through the haze of blind fury, my magic acted on my behalf.

The ground shook ominously, but this time, it wasn't from a giant's running footsteps. The wind swirled around me in a large oval, and my own eyes squinted shut as an almighty light burst in front of me, just seconds before it shot from my wand and sped toward the crowd of enemies. The rush of energy pressed back against me and knocked me off of my feet, leaving me sliding backwards across the ice on my rear, though I stayed upright, my eyes locked on my opponents.

The first three wizards were absolutely obliterated by the concentrated beam of destructive magic, literally vanishing from my view and leaving no trace that they had ever been there. Once the spell had made a solid connection, it split, collapsing upon itself and spreading outward in an arc, shocking the others to the point that they remained curiously still, as if they were unable to move. The giants rocked back on their gargantuan feet, and the men riding their shoulders were thrown to the ground meters below. In a matter of seconds, I had decimated their group of warriors, leaving five of the men dead while the others had yet to move. Though I felt a huge surge of nausea building, both from the loss of life and my magic, I quickly dispatched the seemingly paralyzed wizards with stunners while Burke looked on.

Once I had finished, I turned to the younger auror, panting under the stress from the battle. He looked no worse for wear, but his eyes were streaming tears, and I knew without asking that he was torn up about Kelly's undesirable fate. I had not been unlucky enough to see an auror lose his life, but I had seen enough death in my time to be prepared for it, though it went without saying that I'd never be comfortable with it. Still, my best friends had all survived the war virtually unscathed, whereas Kelly and Lawrence had become close during their time in the aurors. In any case, it didn't take a psychiatrist to pinpoint the reason for Burke's distress.

The clearing was finally devoid of threats, but I spared a few seconds to run some field tracking spells just in case; it certainly wouldn't do to assume I had the operation well in hand only to get beheaded by a cutting curse from my six. Fortunately, my spells were unnecessary, and any suspicions were laid to rest. I paused, watching Burke go through a range of emotions and trying to think of something worthwhile to say to him. _How would I feel if Ron were killed in front of me?_

_Probably like it was all my fault._

"What... the _hell _are you crying about?" Burke looked outraged before realizing that it wasn't me who had spoken. Both of our eyes jumped out of their respective sockets when we spotted Craft wearily rising to his feet, looking like he'd been run through the ringer, but otherwise in stellar shape for a dead man. "Somebody... _die _or something?"

I watched with a smile on my face as Lurch ran across the clearing and tackled his injured friend, both of them falling to the ground and tumbling across the ice. Burke was beating his friend with his fists, but both of them were laughing uncontrollably by the time they were finished - though Lawrence still looked a bit teary-eyed and was prone to an occasional half-laugh, half-sob that wasn't quite convincing. Eventually, they both sobered up enough for Burke to ask, "How the fuck did you survive? I swear I saw you take an Avada Kedavra to the chest!"

Craft chuckled, standing from the ice with a bit of help from Burke's proferred arm. "I guess I'm the Boy Who Lived," he said, causing Burke to heckle him.

"Boo! Poor show!" he said, before laughing and betraying his words.

"Thank you, thank you," he said, wiping snow off of his clothes with a mischevious glance at me. "Potter's been rubbing off on me, I guess," he joked. When I gave him a dirty look, he laughed louder, though he grabbed his ribs and groaned as they obviously protested against the extra movement. "In all seriousness, one of those metallic shards took the curse, but it ricocheted into my midsection and knocked the breath out of me." I nodded as his voice turned from serious to mocking. "Fortunately, Harry respects me enough that the loss of such a _key _member of his team triggered an emotional response, causing him to produce a feat of magic-"

"Shut up, Craft," I muttered, trying not to blush. Obviously, Kelly was right, but there was absolutely no way I'd admit it. "It's great to have you back but we need to find Zeller ASAP." Both of the men seemed to refocus then, nodding sharply before checking their gear momentarily and facing me to receive their orders. "Withey is probably out of the battle, but he should be with Patricia, wherever she is. When we pull out of here, we all go together, alright?"

The two men nodded. I knew that every man needed to be accounted for before we left France, but Zeller could fend for himself - Patricia, on the other hand, likely had no Portkey whatsoever, and would be stranded if we all pulled out early. Both men were waiting for my signal, so I said, "Last I saw of Zeller, he was over _there_." I pointed to a copse of trees to our left, where Zeller had been fighting earlier. "Keep your wits about you; it doesn't look like anyone else is coming, but I doubt that was the last of their forces."

They nodded in turn, but Kelly disagreed. "Actually, I think that was it. I mean, Zeller ran off after a few of them, but we pretty much wrapped things up-"

Craft stopped talking as a buzzing noise was heard overhead; I looked up to see a barrel two or three times my size falling from thin air, and though it was a fifty meters up when I first saw it, I knew it had been aimed at us and I correctly assumed that when it finally touched down, we were going to be in for a hell of a rude awakening. "Apparate now-"

I could have screamed when I found out an Anti-Apparation ward blocked our escape.

_Oh, that's some bullshit._

My world exploded with a mighty crash, and a burst of heat felt like it was scorching my face as I fell inexorably backwards. I crashed into the ground with a tremendous _thwack_, and again, without my auror gear, it felt like my back was caving in. I howled in pain as I lay there, unable to move as my nerves tingled with molten fire. Still, my eyes were in fine working order, and I spotted a lone wizard flying past us, heading in the same direction Withey and Patricia had disappeared to earlier.

As quick as I could, I regained my footing, but it wasn't instantaneous by any means; I lay there for a long time trying to get my breathing under control, and waiting for my back to stop throbbing angrily. A quick glance around me showed that Craft and Burke were stirring as well, though it looked like Burke's arm had been badly burned by the magical fire.

"What was that?" Burke said, before frowning and looking at his arm. Then, as if he had just realized he was supposed to be in extreme pain, he screeched, "Holy hell that hurts!"

"_Vulnera Sanentur!" _Craft yelled, casting the healing spell two additional times before he was satisfied. It was the first time I had seen the spell since Snape had used it on Malfoy to fix the damage my _Sectumsempra _had wreaked on his chest. I hadn't remembered the incantation, but the horrible experience made it impossible for me to forget the way the skin knitted together with a squealching sound that, even now, sent shivers down my spine. Lurch was thankful for his friend's help, and told him so, receiving a non-chalant nod of recognition from Craft in return.

Answering Burke's original question, I said, "I'm not really sure, but it's safe to say that was what a Muggle would call a 'fire bomb'. Magical or not, a few more of those and we wouldn't be talking right now. Let's just hope that was a one-off, eh?" We all came to an agreement on that, and I decided the bomb needed no further discussion. Changing the subject, I said, "Follow me. We're going to get Z."

The two men dutifully followed suit, treading a few meters behind me with their wands held outward to deflect any incoming spells. My feet were aching like mad, along with almost every muscle in my body, but I tried to ignore them in favor of finding Zeller as quickly as possible. As the weather began to change, shifting seamlessly into a snowstorm, I knew it was rapidly becoming dangerous for us to be out here - as if a slew of giants and dark wizards surrounding us was only a warm up for freezing rain and rough winds. To make things worse, my cold, perspiration-covered clothing wasn't doing a very good job protecting me, and though I used a fairly significant warming and drying charms, swirling snow was bound to render those spells next to useless.

The trees were thick and numerous in this part of the woods, somewhere in a valley between two rather large mountains, and walking was becoming more difficult as we trekked the countryside. I could see gleaming white everywhere I looked - above, below, beside - and though I had a good feeling Zeller would be looking for us as well, I couldn't see more than fifteen meters in any direction. Still, we continued walking, our trio tired and strained, but no less likely to falter should another attack come.

I knew that there was no way Burke, Craft and I would give up on Xavier willingly, but I had to wonder how long it would be until we had no choice.

* * *

_-end of Chapter Eight-_


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